o 



<o 






*&sjp&*&jrs£ 



WSK&. 



*m 



i 



»&*>>>rara 



'&&: 



tP 



&♦:*»>>* 



».♦:♦>»' 






«♦♦»> 



«*>>>^« 



^♦L<*>^. 









&^*^£*4*£ 



.♦. 



>i»fi 






/7iM 



& 





Class 

Book__ 
OojfyrightN 






COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




V GRABBED A SLIDING LEVER V WENT SAILING IN THE AIR. 



SUNFLOWER 
SIFTINGS 



ED. BLAIR 

_1L_ 



ILLUSTRATED 




BOSTON 

The Gorham Press 
1914 



Copyright 191h by Ed. Blair 
All rights reserved 






The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A. 



< 

NOV 30 1914 
CU387751 
^o / 



CONTENTS 

The Mothers of Kansas 13 

Decoration Day, 1908 15 

Truthful Jim Talks of Kansas 16 

Riley Week at Indianapolis 20 

Little Boy 22 

How Uncle Walt Writes 23 

The Cabin Days of Kansas , 24 

Old Man Cheerful 25 

My Marais de Cygnes 28 

Baby Understands 29 

Mashing 30 

To A Friend 33 

Aunt Chloe's Carving Set 34 

Mrs. Workemrighthard's Regular Handout 

to the Country Merchant 35 

Crawford's Ghost Story 88 

Pa Jes' Snores Away 40 

What Killed Bill Williams 43 

The Blues 45 

My Copper Toed Boots 46 

Bill Whittler 47 

School Chums 49 

Uncle Jake Dreams of 1950 51 

Uncle Dave Heflebower's Christmas 54 

Billy Been 56 

The Cheerful Liar 58 

Maude and the Judge 62 

Could Not Live on a Hundred a Month 67 

Maude Rockfeller 68 

The Country Editor 70 

The Aftermath 72 

Too Far from the Crick 75 

The Drummer 76 

When Billy and I Go Camping 78 

Shut Your Eyes, Dearies 84 

The Movin' Wagon Man 85 



CONTENTS 

October's Call 89 

When She is Gone 90 

Old Joe Gasser — Nailkeg Town 93 

Uncle Jake and His Son Bill Buy Fruit on 

the Train 95 

The Foolish Woodpecker 98 

The Spring Hill Cemetery 100 

Jean Eleanor Wilkerson 102 

Doin' Things in Kansas 105 

Sing a Song Each Gladsome Day 106 

Jes' Because He's Built that Way 107 

Bingtown's Preparations for Prince Henry. . 109 

Rockville's Wind Jamming Jake Ill 

April's Call 115 

My Friend 116 

At Peace with the World 117 

The Santa Fe Trail 118 

"Easy Joe" 120 

Short Sighted Peter 121 

The Biggest Durn Fools on the Crick 122 

The Old Country Store 123 

A Faded Ambition 125 

Sandy Hill's Hopes. 126 

To Accompany a W r edding Present 130 

The Pioneer Store 131 

My Heart Grows Young Again 134 

Autumn 135 

I Love You 136 

The Old Hotel 137 

Brother Ebenezer Visits Kansas 139 

The Home of Yesterday 143 

Where Quiet Reigns 145 

Bob Dunn's Rest 146 

Goin' Some 149 

It's Raining Out in Kansas 152 

The Planting of the Cottonwood Tree 153 



CONTENTS 

Snaps 155 

Cheerful Songs from Cheerful Hearts 156 

When My Cork Goes Out of Sight 157 

Thanksgiving 159 

When It Gets Wet in Kansas 160 

The Old Roller Towel 162 

Old Joe Gasser 163 

Booze is on the Bum 164 

The Trickling Tear 166 

The Traveling Man's Dream 167 

To the Sorosis Club 170 

The Lilacs Mother Planted 171 

The Pioneers' Anniversary 173 

Easy Ike's Ambition 175 

Care Free 176 

Our Hired Girl. 177 

Hillside Camp in October 179 

Caught in the Every Day Grind 181 

When Love Came to My Doorway 182 

Hooligan's Elephant Ear 184 

Nex' Week 186 

Tell 'Tory, Mamma 188 

Forget It 189 

The Implement Dealer's Dream 190 

Tabby Gets the Mouse 192 

Just as You Say 193 

Make Somebody Happy 194 

The Scandal-Monger 195 

Rockefeller's Resignation as Trustee 196 

Mabel Elizabeth 198 

Little Billy 199 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

'N' Went Sailin' in the Air Frontispiece 

Helped Ed. E. Smith Sow the Seed of the 

Bluestem 17 

Tonight jes' 'fore I Started 41 

And When the Water Sinks Away 59 

"What, "said the Judge 63 

Could Not Live on a Hundred a Month. ... 65 
Tomorrow I'll Sit Where the Still Water 

Flows 73 

And the Coyotes Stole Close to our Tent 

Every Night 79 

And Our Hearts Beat Still Louder from Ter- 
ror and Fear 80 

And They Gazed at our Campflre 81 

A Movin' Wagon Feller 85 

An' Stoppin' When It Rains 86 

Tuck a Little Claim and Went Diggin' in the 

Ground 87 

On the Way to Kansas Now 88 

He'll be Found Down at the Store 91 

"From Kansas?" said St. Peter 103 

To Watch the Birds Returning 113 

Fer He Showed Bill the Restaurant 127 

For the Long Ears 'Twixt the Corn Rows 

Crossed Just Like the Letter X 141 

Offers Men Pointers 186 

Sits Aroun' Home 187 



SUNFLOWER SIFTINGS 



THE MOTHERS OF KANSAS 

A song of the mothers of Kansas 

Who came with the first pioneers, 
Who lived in the tent covered wagons, 

Whose lot oft was hardships and tears, 
Who worked with the fever burned temples 

For others they saw in distress, 
Who never would give up their homesteads 

Nor any misgivings confess. 

A toast to the queens of the cabins 

The wives of our bold pioneers 
Who kept the light burning for lov'd ones 

Whose absence was mingled with fears, 
Who pressed to their bosoms the children 

And bade them put terror to flight 
While the wolves' dismal howl from the 
prairie 

Pierced the dark deathly stillness of night. 

A song of the queens of the prairie 

Whose cabins were never too small, 
Who welcomed the way-faring strangers, 

Who always found shelter for all, 
Who made each a guest tho' a stranger, 

Without thinking once of the pay, 
And sent them away on the morrow 

Regretting so short was their stay. 



13 



A song of the mothers of Kansas 

Who cared for the trees by the door 
And tenderly nurtured the flowers 

Ere the day's weary labor was o'er. 
Whose labor gave shade to the prairies 

Wherever the dwellings now stand, 
A boon to the homes of the present 

Wrought out by her generous hand. 

Oh, mothers who toil'd for the homestead 

When famine and fever prevailed, 
Oh, mothers who stayed when the war's 
blast, 
Was high; when the stronger hearts quailed. 
Their names shall be linked with the heroes 

Of Mine Creek and Marais des Cygnes, 
Whose glorious page in the annals 
Of Kansas, time never will screen. 



14 



DECORATION DAY, 1908 

Let us meet where the soldier boys lay, 

Let us bring forth Old Glory once more, 
Let us tell of the valor today 

That was shown in the battles of yore; 
Let us meet where the trenches were deep, 

In the woodland on mountain or hill, 
Where the sons of Old Glory now sleep, 

Though the cannon and musket are still. 

Let us meet, yes, with reverent hearts 

While a remnant remains with us yet, 
Let us tell, though the tear often starts, 

Of the days we should never forget; 
Of the soldier who kissed the hot tears 

From the cheeks of a maiden, that burned, 
Of the maiden that waited long years 

For a soldier that never returned. 

Let us tell of the prison walls dumb, 

Where the wounded and sick called in vain 
For a mother with water to come 

And cool off a feverish brain; 
Let us tell of the vigil at night, 

Of marches through mud and the rain, 
Of the charge at the dawn's early light 

When thousands and thousands were slain. 

Ah, yes; we will tell it today, 

That the youth 'neath Old Glory may hear; 
On each grave a fond token we'll lay 

For the heroes we love and revere. 
For so long as Old Glory shall wave, 

Yes, so long as our hearts shall beat true, 
We will honor the true and the brave 

Who fought for the Red, White and Blue. 

15 



TRUTHFUL JIM TALKS OF KANSAS 

Spinnin' yarns, that's not^my holt 

If I am from Kansas. 
Makes my inner f eelin's jolt 

Hearin' yarns o' Kansas. 
Alius like to stick to truth, 
Learned that when I was a youth, 
Think some stories are uncouth, 

That they tell o' Kansas. 

Yes, I lived here long ago 

In the state o' Kansas. 
Though there wasn't then much show 

Fer a boy in Kansas. 
Helped Ed. R. Smith sow the seed 
Of the blues tern — yes, indeed, 
Never growed a thing but weeds 

'Fore that time in Kansas. 

Saw the drouth o' '60 through 

On the plains o' Kansas. 
Scarcely knew then what to do, 

Almost scared 'o Kansas. 
When the buffaloes came by 
Caught the cows and milked them dry; 
Alius some way if you try 
- To get through to Kansas. 



16 




HEla»EB ED. R, SMITH SOW THE SEED OF THE BLUESTEM. 



Saw the chinch bugs when they et 

Everything in Kansas. 
Purty tough here then, you bet, 

In the state o' Kansas. 
Saw them eat the corn 'n' wheat, 
(Didn't even leave the cheat) ; 
Run fer office 'n' got beat, 

That same year in Kansas. 

Saw the hoppers once since that 

Way out here in Kansas. 
'N' they took most all the fat 

That was then in Kansas. 
But next year corn grew so quick, 
Grew so big V tall 'n' thick, 
Some folks thought it was a trick — 
Corn we showed from Kansas. 

If the folks '11 only try 

Livin' here in Kansas, 
Things '11 come right by 'n' by — 

Surely will in Kansas. 
All it takes is sand and grit 
With some sunshine into it. 
(Then don't worry, not a bit), 

Fer that wins in Kansas. 



19 



RILEY WEEK AT INDIANAPOLIS 

They're goin' to have a Riley week, 

'N' make a fuss and 'n' spread 
Fer Whitcomb Riley. Ain't that strange— 

Not waitin' till he's dead? 
It's alius been the custom 

In the past to meet 'n' say, 
How much we love a feller 

When he's dead 'n' laid away. 

I'm glad they're doin' it right now, 

While Riley still is here, 
While he can see, 'n' feel, 'n' know 

The hearts that hold him dear. 
For Riley's touched the hearts of folks 

Who live, like you and I; 
He's made us laugh at times 'n' then 

At times he's made us cry. 

Who isn't younger when he thinks 

"O' that Ole Swimmin' Hole;" 
Who doesn't love that dear old dame, 

"Aunt Mary," bless her soul! 
Who doesn't love the orchards more, 

The hummin' of the bees, 
The dear old springtime comin' 

"When the Green Gits in the Trees?" 



20 



Who doesn't love a feller that 

Can talk like little folks, 
Or make us think o' "Grandpa," 

With his fund o' funny jokes? 
Or brings us "Orphant Annie," 

While the kids all crowd about, 
"Fer the Goblins Sure Will Git You 

Ef You Don't Watch Out." 

Sometimes it's "Songs o' Springtime, 

With a feelin' most Divine;" 
Sometimes we're hummin' love songs 

O' that "Old Sweetheart o' Mine;" 
Sometimes a tear comes stealin' 

Down our cheek — a tear o' brine — 
When readin' o' the "Cripple 'ith 

The Curv'ture of the Spine. " 

Oh! Riley, Dear Old Riley. 

With a heart that's younger yet, 
Than most the little folkses 

That you love to kiss and pet. 
Tonight we send you greeting 

As we gather 'round the hearth. 
God bless you, Whitcomb Riley, 

And the place that gave you birth. 



21 



LITTLE BOY 

When you're doing all you can, 

Boy, today; 
If the things don't always pan, 

Still be gay. 
You will win it bye and bye, 
Win the goal, boy, if you try, 
Though some storm clouds may come by 

That are gray. 

If some task seems big, don't dread, 

Little boy; 
Do not dodge the things ahead, 

That annoy. 
Brace up, do your tasks today 
That are coming, boy, your way, 
Do them with a heart that's gay, 

And with joy. 

All the world is good to you, 

Little boy; 
And they like a boy's heart true. 

Filled with joy : 
And they wish him to be kind, 
Full of life with purest mind. 
Will you be one of this kind, 

Little boy? 

You can travel up Life's Hill, 

Day by day; 
When you work, boy, with a will, 

All the way; 
And before you realize 
You'll be reaching for the prize, 
Dreamed of in youth's early skies, 

Little boy. 



22 



HOW UNCLE WALT WRITES 

Walt Mason's a fellow that lives by his pen, 
All papers and magazines, say, "Come again." 
From cities back East to the far distant West 
The common folks think Uncle Walt is the best. 
He goes at a gallop, sometimes, when he writes, 
Yet, while he is going he sees all the sights. 
Along the highway as he travels he seizes 
Some big chunk of wisdom and frames so it pleases. 
Sometimes it's a jingle that sounds mighty sweet; 
Sometimes something prosy without any feet; 
Sometimes it's a yarn and sometimes it's a truth, 
But never you'll find anything that's uncouth. 

He looks o'er the field where the farmer's at work, 
He spies round the store and he watches the clerk, 
He looks at the fellow in office sometimes, 
And next day he fixes 'em all up in rhymes. 
Some folks often wonder how Old Uncle Walt 
Gets all of the ginger and pepper and salt 
He puts in his rhymes, when the grist every day 
Is equal at least to a small bale of hay. 
I'll tell you. He writes when he dozes at night, 
When sitting at dinner a tablet's in sight; 
When out on the street he never is shirking, 
With hands in his pockets two pencils he's work- 
ing, 
And when at his desk twixt his toes on the floor 
Eight pencils are knocking off jingles galore. 

May years yet to come, Walt, be sweeter to you. 
May all of your friends in this old world be true. 
May "rheumatiz" never strike fingers or toes, 
May joys press you heavy, and lightly your woes. 
May fingers and toes e'er pen jingles of joy 
And keep up the gallop — we like it old boy. 

23 



THE CABIN DAYS OF KANSAS 

In the cabin days of Kansas, 

Oh ! 'twas great to live here then, 
When we heard the morning cackle 

Of the prairie chicken hen; 
And the drum like noise of roosters, 

Coming from the prairie near, 
In the early days of Kansas — ■ 

Days that always will be dear. 

How we visited with neighbors, 

Living miles and miles away, 
In a bobsled or a wagon, 

For the trip, the entire day. 
How we welcomed all the strangers, 

As they drove up to the yard, 
And they shared our every comfort, 

Though the best sometimes was hard. 

In the twilight father's "fiddle" 

Used to pour the music sweet 
Of the "Devil's Dream" and others, 

While the foot ne'er lost a beat. 
And the "Sweet Tobacco Posey," 

Alabama's dearest rose, 
Always came in for a feature 

Ere the evening would close. 



24 



Oh! the old time songs he gave us — 

Could a child of his e'er roam? 
"Bobbie Burns," his favorite ballads, 

Best of all, "No Place Like Home." 
And the songs of war-time heroes, 

In each line a thrill of love 
For the Union Flag forever, 

On the ramparts far above. 

How the music soothed a youngster, 

As the creaking trundle bed, 
Cuddled me between the comforts, 

And the "Good Night" words were said, 
And I lay there drifting, dreaming, 

On the wings of peaceful sleep. 
With no thought of stern tomorrow's 

Climbing up Life's Hill so steep. 

"Turn your backs" would come the warning, 

As the women left the hearth, 
(Breaking up the happy circle 

'Round the firepiace) for their berth. 
Then the last was father's winding 

Of the old Seth Thomas clock, 
Like the katydid's false warning. 

Latch string in. Asleep his flock. 



25 



OLD MAN CHEERFUL 

Eli Davis 

There's a man not far from here 
That seems full of gladsome cheer, 
Kind o' chap I like to meet 
For he's always sure to greet 
Every one he meets each day 
With a "Howdy", though he's gray. 
He has lived here many years 
With the people, and no fears 
Ever come from those he met 
That their friendship's sun would set, 
For he always does his part, 
Does it with a cheerful heart. 

Not a flower buds or blooms 
But he loves its sweet perfumes; 
Not a sorrow 'mong his friends 
But some succor he extends, 
And the bird upon the limb 
Sings its sweetest notes to him. 
He just loves things as they are, 
Shining sun or peeping star. 
Budding blossoms in the spring — 
Joyous notes of birds on wing — 
Autumn frost and falling leaves — 
Winter snowdrifts — summer sheaves — 
As they pass each coming year, 
They but add to his good cheer. 



26 



Rather curious man, I say, 
This old chap with locks of gray 
Scattering flowers — mixing mirth 
For the sad hearts here on earth. 
Do you know our lives would be 
Dreary, but for such as he? 
Be you high or be you low 
Just step up and tell him so. 
Tell him while he can still hear 
That to honest hearts he's dear. 
Tell him that you know his worth 
While he still lives on the earth. 



27 



MY MARAIS DES CYGNES 

Soft winds of May how I love thy caresses, 
Wooing my thoughts from the cares of the day, 
Playing 'mong trees that are robed in green 

tresses 
Lulling to restfulness winds of fair May. 
From the fair southland where cotton is growing, 
Over fair Kansas with prairies so green, 
Softly you sing, like the sweet waters flowing 
The waters that flow in my Marais des Cygnes. 

Lull me to sleep with thy songs and caresses, 
Lull me to sleep as you deaden my cares, 
Here with thy music how lightly care presses, 
Softly to billowy dreamland it bears 
Winds that are laden with fragrance of flowers, 
Songs of the waters in silvery sheen 
Lull me to sleep while I rest 'mong the bowers; 
Waters and winds of my Marais des Cygnes. 



28 



BABY UNDERSTANDS 

Out in the shade of the trees in the yard, 

In its cool crib is the baby; 
Cooing, then kicking its feet fast and hard, 

Looking above is the baby. 
Ev'rything talks to the sweet baby there — 
Old Mister Blue Jay and Robin so fair — 
And they look down with a wondering air, 

Chirping sweet notes to the baby. 

Baby's blue eyes soon discover them there, 

For he is watching, is baby; 
Two hands are moving, two feet in the air, 

Cooing a welcome is baby. 
He understands all the notes that they sing 

Of their dear birdlings that nested this spring, 
And what a pleasure their raising did bring." 

He understands, does the baby. 

Then the wind tosses the branches around, 

Just for his pleasure, knows baby, 
And far above him a sky world he's found, 

Blue like the eyes of the baby. 
Bending above these the sky takes a peep, 
Wind whispers softly, "Thy mamma will keep 
Baby from harm" — and he's now fast asleep; 

He understands, does the baby. 



29 



MASHING 

Shady trees, 
Babbling brook, 
Girl in hammock 
Reading book. 

Golden curls, 
Tiny feet, 
Girl in hammock 
Looks so sweet. 

Man rides past, 
Big mustache, 
Girl in hammock 
Makes a mash. 

Mash is mutual, 
Day is set, 
Man and maiden 
Married get. 

Married now 
One year ago, 
Keeping house 
In Baxter Row. 

Beef steak charry, 
Eyes look red, 
Girl got married 
Nearly dead. 

Man comes home, 
Tears mustache, 
Mad as blazes, 
Got no hash. 



30 



\ 



Thinks of maiden 
In the lane, 
Wishes maiden 
Back again. 

Maiden also 
Thinks of swing, 
Wishes she were 
Back, poor thing. 

Hour of midnight, 
Baby squawking, 
Man in sock feet 
Bravely walking. 

'Fore he ceases 
Then another 
Strikes up like his 
Little brother. 

Paregoric 
By the bottle, 
Emptied into 
Baby's throttle. 

Naughty tack with 
Point in air, 
Waiting some one's 
Foot to tear. 

Doesn't know that 
Tack is there 
Holy Moses ! 
Hear him swear ! 



31 



Raving crazy 
Gets his gun, 
Blows his head off, 
Dead and gone. 

Pretty widow 
By the brook, 
In the hammock 
Reading book. 

Man comes by, 
Big mustache, 
Keeps on reading, 
Nary mash! 



32 



TO A FRIEND 

Friend Will, I am sending 

At this, the year's ending, 
A calendar showing the days that I'll think 

Of you, my good fellow. 

For you, my thoughts mellow 
And sweeten my hours. To your health now I 
drink. 

Some friends are funny, 
Some friends just like money 
That's with me today and then gone on the mor- 
row. 
Some friends try to work me, 
Some others to shirk me, 
But you stay with me in both sunshine and sor- 
row. 



33 



/ 



AUNT CHLOE'S CARVING SET 

Dey's sent dis chile a cahvin' set 

For Chrismus — aint dat great? 
It come to me dis mawnin' 

By d'spress (too slow by freight), 
It's got de greates' han'les on, 

Dey's ebony dey say. 
It suhtinly did s 'prise me, 

Cumin' heah on Chrismus day. 

De blade am long an' shiny, 

An' its steel am heavy weight, 
De fo'ks so long, 'twell reach mos' tru 

De turkey to de plate; 
De steel to rasp de razzah blade 

Is mos' long as my ahm; 
'Twell do to strip de cane wid 

When I'se livin' on a fahm. 

I sut'inly loves 'membrances 

At Chrismus times de mos'. 
But I'se so awful hungry, 

I'se des' feelin' like a ghos'. 
If I dares hang dis cahvin' set 

Way up dar on de wall, 
'Twell des keep up my 'membrances — 

"No turkey here at all." 

I wondah ef dat possum, 

Ober dare across de street, 
Tinks he'll pass dis he'ah Chrismus 

Wif out ebah bein' eat? 
Say! Mistah Groceryman, is you 

A tradin' man? You bet! 
Will you trade dat ah possum 

Fo' dis heah cahvin' set? 



34 



MRS. WORKEMRIGHTHARD'S REGULAR 

HANDOUT TO THE COUNTRY 

MERCHANT 

How much are you pay in' for eggs here today? 
Eggs? "Twelve and a half," says storekeeper 

Gray. 
They're payin' thirteen at Kalamazoo; 
I don't see how they can pay more than you. 
Are you sure now of that, says storekeeper Gray, 
They paid only twelve down there yesterday. 
That's funny, comes back Mrs. Workemright- 

hard, 
Well, they're sellin' prints for a nickel a yard. 

We have some at five, says storekeeper Gray, 
But not of the best for the colors are gay. 
How much for my lard — twelve cents — is that all? 
If I had known that I'd have kept it till fall. 
Be careful there, mister, in usin' them scales, 
For my pair at home in good weight never fails. 
Down at Kalamazoo the last time I found 
They swindled me out of a fourth of a pound. 

What's that ribbon worth? What! Ten cents a 

yard ! 
And only pay me twelve cents for my lard? 
There, give me that much, be careful, there, man, 
And don't you cheat me — You throw in a fan. 
When a customer comes here from Kalamazoo, 
And buys lots of stuff, like I always do, 
Mr. Shortweight and Skinem they always throw 

in 
With every big trade, some utensil of tin. 



35 



What's shirting? Ten cents. You don't mean to 

say; 
You ask ten for that? Now remember I pay, 
And some of these times I'll have chickens to sell, 
And I might bring 'em here if you treat me right 

well. 
Give you eight — No? All right, I'll tell Mrs. 

Day, 
A neighbor of mine that lives cross the way, 
That when she wants shirting to never come here 
Where they buy things for nothin' and sell 'em so 

dear. 

Any slippers? I want something easy and cheap, 

What, a dollar for them? Isn't that pretty steep? 

Last pair I got only cost ninety -eight. 

If you won't sell 'em right, I guess I can wait. 

Might not be as good? Yes, that might be true, 

But I'll look around down at Kalamazoo. 

They say they are sellin' things cheap down there 

now, 
And I'll get along for a few days somehow. 

How much for that crash — only eight cents a yard? 
(I'll get somethin' maybe yet out of my lard). 
A yard and a half — no a quarter will do; 
That'll be just a dime — Watch out, cut it true. 
There's nothin' provokes me so quick as to see 
One side of it shorter than it ought to be. 
There, now, wrap it up — where's that ribbon I 

got? 
If I didn't watch out I'd lose all I have bought. 



36 



You can pay me cash for the balance that's due, 
(Been tradin' two hours and still I'm not through) . 
I wanted some pins, but I've no time today, 
I've got to get home, for the old man's away. 
Put that rag in the jar and put paper aroun' 
So that none of the grease '11 get onto my gown; 
I' 11 figger this tradin' all over tonight, 
'Nd you'll see me termorrow if it isn't right. 

Then storekeeper Gray drops into a chair, 
And fervently mutters some sort of a prayer. 
At least he says this, when able to stir, 
"I truly thank God there's not many like her." 



37 



CRAWFORD'S GHOST STORY 

I do one night wif t Uncle Bill 
*N' Uncle Doc way past the^hill 
'N' down the woad 'n' nen we went 
Out in the dark woods wif a tent. 
'N' Auntie Bird V Auntie Bair 
'N' Auntie Eagan they was there 
'N' we 'ist took the tent 'n' staked 
It tight 'n' Uncle Bill he maked 
A drate big bonfire by the door 
'N' I dit sticks 'n' pile on more; 
'N' nen the bwaze ist went so high 
'Et it most 'ighted up the sty. 
(They was n't any sty at all 
'Tause all the trees drowed up so tall.) 

'N' we dot supper awful twick; 
'N' Uncle Bill he dit a stick 
'N' put the baton on one en' 
'N' hoi' it in the fire 'n' nen 
Wy, Auntie Bird 'n' Eagan they 
'N' Auntie Bair, don't took that way; 
They det the stillet 'n' they fwy 
The edds 'n' baton 'n' they twy 
To make some fun 'o' Uncle Bill 
'N' tall him Inyen, but he still 

Ist eat 'n' eat 'o' say "Yum yum." 
('N' it was dood; he divd me some.) 
'N' nen afore we do to bed 
We hear a noise wite over head 



38 



'N' Uncle Bill say it's a dos' 

'N' he ist stairt to def almos' 
'N' jump up twick 'n' fall inside 
The tent 'n' twy his bes' to hide, 

'N' Uncle Doc he say "One year 

The Inyens use to be wite here 

Where we is now wite on this dwoun. 
'N' Inyen dos', es tome aroun' 

Sometimes, 'n' make a noise 'ike owls 

Er 'ike the wolfs' when they ist howls." 
'N' say to make the fire burn bwight 
Fer they won't turn where is the light. 

'N'nen we all ist hurry twick 
'Cept Uncle Billy n-o-t a stick. 
He ist hops woun there in the light 
'N' stairt so bad; ist almos' white 
'N' I-I-I-I-I-n-o-t a-f-w-a-i-d 
I ist put sticks on 'n' I stayed 

Wite close atween the tent 'n' fire 
'N' make the fames do way up higher. 
But nuffin dot us. 'N' nex' day 
We taked the tent 'n' tomed away. 
But Uncle Bill he say it's f-a-c-k-s 
They sure was dos', he see the twacks! 



39 



PA JES' SNORES AWAY 

There ain't no sleepin' here at all 

When a storm comes up at night, 
Fer Ma jes' prances 'round the hall 

'N' keeps us in a fright. 
She asks each kid if he is awake, 
'N' hollers to Pa, "Fer goodness sake, 
How can you sleep when the house does shake?" 

'N' Pa jes' snores away. 

The lamps are lit from the cellar up 

When a storm comes up at night, 
'N' she opens the door for the brindle pup, 

For the poor thing's in a fright; 
'N' every time that the thunders roar 
Ma starts again for the cellar door, 
'N' yells to Pa, "Don't you hear that roar?" 

'N' Pa jes' snores away. 

The wind may blow till the daylight breaks, 

But Pa jes' snores away; 
You couldn't rouse him with six earthquakes — 

Pa goes to bed to stay. 
'N' when he looks out next morn and sees 
That the wind blew over a stand of bees 
'N' broke the limbs from a dozen trees, 

"We've had a storm," he'll say. 



40 




TONIGHT JES FORE I STARTED, OLE CARLO ACTED LIKE 

HE DID THE EVENIN' A MAN WAS KILLED DOWN ON THE PIKE. 



WHAT KILLED BILL WILLIAMS 

Bill Williams had a fever and one evening was 

worse, 
And so a half a dozen of the neighbors came to 

nurse. 
Joe Simples was the first one and he looked and 

shook his head, 
'N' whispered so Bill heard it — "Yes, 'fore morn- 

in' he'll be dead. 
Tonight jes' 'fore I started, Ole Carlo acted like 
He did the evenin' a man was killed down on the 

pike; 
I couldn't be mistaken 'bout the kind o' howl he 

gave, 
'N' somethin' told me then and there I'd dig Bill 

Williams' grave." 

Then Jerry Wildeye entered and stepped up to 

the bed 
And took a look at Williams, as he shook his 

shaggy head; 
Then turned and said — "I knew it 'fore I ever 

came inside; 
I saw some signs this evenin' like them when 

Jenkins died. 
I saw a black cat cross the road aways ahead o' 

me; 
'N' heard some wings a flappin' as I passed the 

elm tree; 
My horse got scared at sumthin' by the grave- 
yard on the hill — 
The very things that happened when Jenkins 

tuck so ill. " 



43 



"I felt that I just had to come" Matilda Jones 

put in; 
I felt that if I stayed away 'twould be a monstrous 

sin; 
Fer somethin' happened to our clock that surely 

meant a death 
It jist unnerved me almost, 'n' completely tuck 

my breath. 
Our clock that had been silent fer perhaps a week 

or more 
Begun to strike this afternoon and struck jist 

twenty-four; 
I've heerd my mother tell about such happenin's 

in her day, 
An sich things meant a funeral invaribly right 

away. " 

And then Sophia Croaker said in a half whispered 

tone, 
"I notice that the wind tonight has a peculiar 

moan, 
'N' one of our old hens today, she flapped her 

wings and crowed, 
'N' in the dust I noticed where a snake had 

crossed the road. 
I've alius noticed that sich things hev never 

happened here 
Unless there was a funeral a comin' mighty near. " 
And then Bill Williams turned in bed and gave 

one weary sigh; 
And the doctors still are wondering why Williams 

had to die. 



44 



THE BLUES 

When de clouds am so dahk dat de heaht am 
tickin' slow, 
An' de blues des got a hoi' on you; 
When you feel so tiahd dat yo' laigs will hahdly 
go, 
An' de clouds won't let de sunshine fru; 
Don' yo' gib up de task — it's a test o' what yo's 
worf, 
Foh any one kin go when tings am right; 
Out o' yo' all's troubled heaht let der come a burs' 
o' mirf, 
An' keep a trabelin' long until de night. 

De way may be long an' de restin' spots so fah, 

Dat it seems dat de mawnin' an' de night, 
While yo's a shamblin' 'long, has a heap o' tings 
to mah 
An' de ol' worl' was nebah, nebah right. 
But a good night's res' wid a meadow lahk's sweet 
song, 
An' de sun's face a shinin' in de mawn, 
Makes ye pick up yer load an' den go a trabelin' 
'long, 
An' feelin' once agin yo's glad yo's bawn. 

So staht out each day wid some music in de heaht, 

An' look all de people in de face, 
A carryin' yo' burdens, foh each one mus' beah a 
paht; 

An' alius go 'long wid sweetes' grace, 
An' some one den who sees yo' will maybe lif' his 
eyes 

An' say, " I would fall once but des foh you. " 
Be brave an' wif honahs yo'll sholy win de prize, 

If de blues don' git a hoi' on you. 

45 



MY COPPER TOED BOOTS 

I'll never forget them, as long as I live, 

The first pair of boots that I wore; 
In the long, long ago, when I was but eight, 

They brought them one day from the store. 
I put them right on and I strutted about, 

For I wanted the people to see 
Those copper toed boots that completed my joy, 

And made a Big Man out of me. 

I had dreamed of those boots, yes for weeks and 
for months, 

And I wondered if dreams would come true; 
I talked of them mornings, when I would get up, 

And followed up all the day through; 
For when I was eight they had told me, " Perhaps," 

I would be big enough for a pair. 
So I longed, and I talked, and I dreamed of the day 

When those copper toed boots I could wear. 

I called ma's attention to boys smaller still, 

Who had them and wore them to school ; 
I showed pa my shoes, with the tops far too low, 

So low that my ankles got cool. 
I measured myself with Bill Harvey, and he 

Was not any taller than I, 
And Bill had a pair of those copper toed boots — 

If Bill had, now why shouldn't I? 

And I got them the morning that I was just eight, 

And I walked with big steps like my pa, 
And he told me as I was a striding along, 

"You'll be a man yet 'fore your ma." 
I've had some fine things done for me in my time, 

But most of them come through by freight; 
But the finest of all was my copper toed boots 

They gave me when I was just eight. 

46 



BILL WHITTLER 

Bill Whittler spends his summers where 
The breezes gently fan his hair. 
A box in front of any store, 
Where he can chew, and spit, and roar 
About the country and the folks, 
(Who are too busy for his jokes), 
Suits Bill first-rate, and Bill is there 
In time to get the morning air. 

In winter time he finds a place, 

In some warm corner where his grace 

Can masticate and prophesy 

On things political, that try 

The statesman's wits, or tougher yet, 

The problems of the suffragette. 

Bill's wife admires her husband Bill, 

For Bill's not bad. Sometimes he'll fill 

With water her large tub before 

He leaves for "settin' " at the store, 

Or, thoughtful heart that's filled with good, 

He'll carry in a load of wood. 

Bill knows the baseball scores complete, 
What congressmen will meet defeat, 
The time to bud the apple trees, 
Or sow the oats or rob the bees, 
Just how to plant the corn in spring, 
To have the "whoppinest" crop, by jing; 
Knows how to plow the tender plants, 
And keep the kitchen free from ants. 



47 



If he was young again right now, 
He'd take some chickens and a cow, 
And go somewhere close to a town, 
And buy a home and settle down, 
And by good management of his, 
Would soon be beatin' any biz 
Of sellin' goods, (he and his frau), 
If he was young again right now. 
"To win, " says Bill, "right from the start, 
A wife must always do her part. " 



48 



SCHOOL CHUMS 

Of all the joys that ever came to me when I was 

young 
The joys of school days long ago of which fond 

bards have sung, 
The joy that made my heart beat fast and made 

my burdens light 
Was mine, when mother said, " You may go home 

with Bill tonight." 

Fer Bill and I were chums, we sat together in one 

seat, 
We shared at dinner every day the things we had 

to eat, 
We studied from the well thumbed books, (with 

ink marks on each page) 
That in one term or less appeared to have been 

used an age. 

I chewed Bill's gum when he was tired, or if 

enough for two 
The rule of short division was applied so both 

could chew. 
And when I spilled the ink across his copy book's 

fair page 
Bill took his sleeve and wiped it up and showed 

no sign of rage. 

So when my mother said, "You may go home 

with Bill tonight," 
My heart jumped high for I was filled with joy's 

supreme delight. 
And all the day as moments dragged from nine 

o'clock till four 
'You're goin' home with me tonight" Bill said it 

o'er and o'er. 



49 



Bill showed me where the crow's nest was (to 

climb to it we tried). 
I helped him milk old Crumply Horn, one of us 

on each side. 
And then we made a fishin' line — a bent pin for 

a hook, 
'N' Bill and I and Bill's grandpa went fishin' in 

the brook. 
We had the measles, Bill and I, Bill broke out 

with them first. 
Of all the lonesome days I've seen, the next day 

was the worst. 
I sat alone and tried in vain to study some that 

day, 
But 'twasn't any use to try, with my chum Bill 

away. 

That night when Bill was in his bed, with measles 

coming out, 
His mother came into the room to tuck the quilt 

about, 
And when the flickering candle shone upon Bill's 

curly hair, 
His mother started with surprise, for my head too 

was there. 

Oh, Billy Boy, my youthful chum, may years 

touch lightly now 
Upon the head I love so well, upon thy once fair 

brow. 
When springtime comes and pupils search for 

flowers on the hill, 
I call from memory again my boyhood chum, my 

Bill. 



50 



UNCLE JAKE DREAMS OF 1950 
Written 1899 

Last night when I was lyin' on 

The sofa, readin' 'bout 
The various new inventions 

Thet now are comin' out, 
The telephones 'n' telegraphs 

'N' airships 'n' the like, 
I heerd our ole Seth Thomas clock 

Begin to whir 'n' strike. 

"It's six o'clock," says I, "'n' so 

I'd better make a fire 
'N' have ye bake the buckwheat cakes," 

Says I unto Mariar. 
'N' then Mariar turned and looked 

So funny like at me, 
'N' said, "Ye must be dreamin', Jake, 

Or don't know where ye be. 

"It's nineteen fifty now, ole man, 

Not nineteen hundred two 
'N' wimmin folks don't hev to slave 

As once they hed to do." 
"Don't hev to cook?" says I, "D'ye mean 

T' say, thet folks don't eat 
'N' kin folks git along here now 

Without a bit of heat? 

"Hev I slept 50 years, by jing 

'N' waked up jes' to find 
Thet eatin's out o' fashion? Say, 

I guess ye've lost yer mind." 
'N' then Mariar chuckled like, 

'N' reached upon the wall 
'N' touched a button stickin' there 

Thet sounded forth a call. 
51 



'N' then she says to me, "Now, dress, 

Yer tablet's on the plate; 
I guess I'll take another snooze, 

Don't call me until eight." 
By jing, I hustled on my clothes, 

'N' went out there to see 
'N' found a small like tablet 

Layin' on a plate fer me. 

I swallered it 'n' felt as if 

I'd eaten of a steak, 
'N' then I pinched myself, to make 

Me sure I was awake, 
The room was warm as summer, 

But not a stove in sight; 
'N' not a window in the house, 

Yet ev'rything was bright. 

I couldn't understand it quite, 

So went outside to see 
If everything hed changed out there, 

From what it used to be. 
I 'sposed Old Ned, my drivin' nag, 

Would still be in his stall; 
But ding me if a single horse 

Was in the barn at all. 

'Twas jes' chock full o' motor rigs 

Fer tearin' up the ground; 
New f angled cultivators, plows 

'N' harrows all around. 
'N' way out in the field a ways 

I see a plow out there, 
A sailin' across the land without 

A driver anywhere. 

A dozen calves were suckin' at 

Some automatic thing; 
'N' dinged if the old windmill 

Wasn't milkin' cows, by jing, 
52 



'N' steers as fat as butter 
Were layin' 'round the lot; 

'N' not a feed trough anywhere, 
'Twas curious I thought. 

"It's time t' feed ther cattle," 

Says I to Bill, my son, 
'N' then Bill laughed and said he hed 

Provided everyone 
With patent condensed chewin' cuds, 

'N' he was ready now, 
To "fly 'em" off to market, 

'N' I stood 'n' wondered how. 

Well thet there boy, he hustled 

Them steers inside a pen, 
Thet hed a good floor in it, 

'N' cover on, 'n' then 
He touched a little button, 

'N' the barn roof opened wide, 
'N' dinged ef that boy didn't hev 

A flyin' machine inside. 

He tuck thet thing 'n' hitched it 

To thet pen standin' there 
'N' grabbed a slidin' lever, 

'N' went sailin' in the air. 
I stood 'n' watched until the thing 

Was almost out o' sight, 
'N' wondered if the boy would be 

Back home before 'twas night. 

Then turned 'n' started fer the house, 

But tripped upon a stick 
'N J fell, it seemed jes' like to me, 

A half a ton of brick 
(From off the lounge) 'n' then Mariar 

Yelled, "Say, git to bed, 
Ye fell right off on thet poor cat, 

'N' almost killed it dead." 
53 



UNCLE DAVE HEFLEBOWER'S 
CHRISTMAS 

When I think of Christmas Day, 
Of its cheer that lights our way, 
Of the hearts that then are gay, 

Uncle Dave. 

Back to you my mind will turn, 
For you and your home I yearn, 
Where sweet thought of kindness burn, 

Uncle Dave. 

Back to you where children dear 
Romp and rollick without fear, 
Adding to the day's sweet cheer, 

Uncle Dave. 

There where hearts are true and tried, 
There where doors are open wide, 
With a Christmas tree inside, 

Uncle Dave. 

Round the table one and all, 
Grandpa, Grandma, children tall, 
With their children, large and small, 

Uncle Dave. 

Gather with sweet merriment, 
Happy, joyous and content, 
Sweetest joys to man e'er sent, 

Uncle Dave. 

And when grateful words are said, 
Ere the breaking of the bread, 
All the hungry then are fed, 

Uncle Dave. 



54 



Welcome, to the bounteous store, 
Be you rich or be you poor, 
None turned ever from your door, 

Uncle Dave. 

Dinner o'er, again with glee, 
Gathered round the Christmas tree, 
One and all again we see, 

Uncle Dave. 

For there's something there for all, 
Grandpa, Grandma, children all, 
Something to this day recall, 

Uncle Dave. 

Ah! that there were more such days, 
Where hearts meet, where frolic plays, 
Where the Christmas cheer still sways, 

Uncle Dave. 

For no one can turn away, 
From the good cheer of this day, 
But will better be, alway, 

Uncle Dave. 

So we'll give this toast to you, 
You've a heart that's always true, 
Rugged, firm and kindly, too, 

Uncle Dave. 

For kind deeds has been your part, 
Through your whole life, from the start- 
Old in years, but not in heart 

Uncle Dave. 



55 



BILLY BEEN 

Billy Been of the Marais des Cygnes, 

Trading Post, Kansas — Have you ever seen 

A one legged man who lives in a boat? 

(When fishing is fair he is always afloat.) 

He knows all the rocks and the stumps that are 

seen 
Along the sleek banks of the Marais des Cygnes, 
And he uses them daily to anchor his lines 
Nor cares if it's raining nor if the sun shines. 

Billy Been, of the Marais des Cygnes 
Morning and evening each day can be seen 
Paddling along as he visits his hooks 
(Just as the stories you read of in books) 
Tells all you ask — just what kind of bait 
Is used by the experts, and tells it so straight 
That hopes of a catch by each novice are high 
As he fights the mosquitoes and casts out his fly. 

Billy Been, of the Marais des Cygnes, 
Welcomes all visitors, (plain to be seen) 
For when they are weary and hungry at last 
From casting the lines, when the hooks all get 

fast, 
They start down the river a-looking for him, 
Where his boat is fast anchored to rocks or a 

limb, 
They dig up their coin when they get to the spot 
And ask him how much for what fish he has got. 



56 



Good Billy Been then pulls up his trap 

So chock full of fish that the staves almost snap, 

And says "For that catfish two dollars to you, 

For a carp or a sucker a dollar will do. 

I'm sorry the fish warn't bitin' today 

But I'm not much surprised for the sky was so 

gray. 
Come back in a week they're not moving much 

yet 
And ye'll get some whoppers with doughballs I 

bet." 

And then to the city the novices go 
With a twenty pound cat and a sucker to show, 
And tell all their friends how that catfish did fight 
As he yanked on the lines on that Saturday night, 
How they upset the boat and let smaller fish go, 
As they sweated and tugged to get him in tow, 
How the spot of all spots is the Marais des Cygnes 
But they never once mention their friend Billy 
Been. 



57 



THE CHEERFUL LIAR 

I like a cheerful liar, 

That's what I do — you bet; 
I like a cheerful liar, 

He's the funniest fellow yet. 
He knocks the blues a-winding, 

And he drives the clouds away; 
I like a cheerful liar, 

And I'm glad to have him stay. 

When corn crops are uncertain, 

And no moisture in the sky, 
When it looks like vegetation 

Everywhere is bound to die, 
Then the cheerful cuss goes whistling 

'Round his place as if he'd struck 
A booming, gushing gas well 

And was in a barrel of luck. 

Says the floods have washed his fence out 

(When there hasn't been a dew), 
'N' the meadow grass has grown so tall 

The cattle can't get through. 
'N' he'd like to loan ten thousand 

To his friends if they will call, 
And thinks he'll take a little trip 

To"Yurrup"inthefall. 

When it's "too wet for ducks" he says 

The weather's just immense, 
Says he has baited all the barbs 

Upon his barb wire fence; 
And when the water sinks away 

The catfish hanging there 
Will net him a cool thousand 

With a hundred then to spare. 

58 







AND WHEN THE WATER SINKS AWAY 
THE CATFISH HANGING THESE. 



Oh, yes, give me a liar with 

A cheerful face, instead 
Of some disgruntled fellow 

With sores inside his head, 
Who never sees the sun shine 

Nor hears the songs of birds 
And whose vocabulary knows 

No sweet or cheerful words. 

A chromo for the fellow 

That sings in spite of fate. 
Who plans for the tomorrow 

And keeps a steady gait; 
There is music in his laughter 

And he drives dull cares away- 
The jolly, cheerful liar, 

Yes, I like for him to stay. 



61 



MAUDE AND THE JUDGE 

The old Judge with his trotting mare, 
Went by so quick folks stopped to stare. 

And out where Maud lived on the plain 
The Judge that afternoon drew rein. 

"What is the price of hay," said he, 
Said Maud, "I'll tell you presently, 

For there are others here, old man, 
That wish to buy hay if they can. " 

"What," said the Judge, "you do not say 
That all these men are after hay?" 

"Ah yes," said Maud, "and hundreds more 
Are writing letters by the score." 

And then the Judge gazed in the eyes 
Of this Maud Muller with surprise. 

For there were marks of beauty there 
In fact Miss Maud was wondrous fair. 

Her eyes before so dull and gray 
Now sparkled when she talked of hay, 

And once he thought her hair was red 
But it was auburn now instead. 

And her brown hands they were not bare 
A pair of her old hose were there, 

And just a little 'bove the soles 

Her slender thumbs stuck through the holes. 

62 




WHAT, SAID THE JUDGE YOU DO NOT SAY 
THAT ALL THESE MEN ARE AFTER HAY? " 



"Ah," said the Judge, "what wondrous 

charms 
Doth nature give to those on farms. 

Believe me I'm not here today 
To talk to you of buying hay, 

I've lived in hotels all my life, 
I'm seeking now a gentle wife. 



63 



To share a home which by and by 
I hope to build ten stories high; 

And there among the trees some day 
Shall living fountains shoot their spray, 

And walks and drives be laid around 
Each corner of our village ground. 

Oh, wilt thou come and dwell with me 
And my sweet Dearie ever be?" 

Maud gazed down on her blistered feet 
And listened to his words so sweet, 

Then said, "If I should leave today 
A rain might come and spoil my hay; 

And if my hay be spoiled, I fear 
To you I might not seem so dear. 

'Tis not for me, kind sir, you care 
'Tis feed you wish for that old mare, 

And if I know myself you'll pay 
Just twenty for a ton today." 

Denials were in vain. Poor Judge! 

From her resolve Maud would not budge. 

* * * * 

Alas for the Judge's old brown mare — 
She rambles around now everywhere. 

Along the hedges she eats the weeds 
Refusing not even the thistle seeds, 

And heaves a sigh for "what might have 

been" 
Had the old Judge made his story win. 

64 




COULD NOT LIVE ON A HUNDRED A MONTH. 



COULD NOT LIVE ON A HUNDRED A 

MONTH 

When we tied up, my Sue and I 

We often had debated 
The finances of families, 

And how we would be rated. 
We thought we'd have a hundred plunks 

Each month to keep us going. 
For I would hustle every day, 

And Sue would take in sewing. 
Yes, we could live in style on that 

And save a little money, 
For by and by (the rainy days), 

When times were not so sunny. 
We've worked ten years — we're working yet, 

But still we're not a living 
On any hundred plunks a month. 

We have a faint misgiving 
That we can never do the thing, 

Though we are still a trying. 
We've never made but sixty yet, 

And that's what keeps us sighing. 



67 



MAUDE ROCKEFELLER 

One summer day Judge William Brown 
Was scorching forty miles from town, 
When suddenly the sparker plug 
Got faint and wouldn't go ker-chug. 
The Judge got out with serious mein 
And found he had no gasoline. 
But suddenly a smile came o'er 
His face, for near, he saw a store. 
"Maud Rockefeller — Gasoline," 
This welcome sign hung there in green. 
"How much is gasoline?" said he, 
And Maud smiled sweetly as could be. 
"Five dollars for a gallon, sir; 
Five gallons at five dollars per. " 
The Judge looked straight into her eye 
And said, "Is not that pretty high!" 
"Another store you'll find," Maud said, 
"If you continue straight ahead." 
"How far? " he said. And Maud with smiles 
Said, "Somewhere near a dozen miles." 
The Judge then with his fingers drummed 
And Maud a little sonnet hummed. 
He noted that her neck was long 
And that her jaw was firm and strong. 
An ugly mole was on her cheek, 
She did not hesitate to speak. 
She looked as if she were well fed 
And had no trouble earning bread. 
Then summing up his courage spoke 
" I'd like to buy but I am broke, 
That is I haven't quite enough 
To buy five gallons of the stuff." 
"I'll sell you four then for that twenty, 
To get you home 'twill be a plenty. " 
In vain he tried to plead his case, 
But "nothing doing" in her face. 

68 



Her jaw was firm, "Five dollars per" 
Was all that he could get from her. 

When court was called that afternoon 
The Judge ne'er hummed a single tune. 
A company that dealt in oils 
And gasoline was in the toils. 
The pirates had torn down the fence, 
And said the Judge, "There's no defense." 
"Five thousand dollars," said Judge Brown, 
"Committed till you plank her down." 



69 



THE COUNTRY EDITOR 

He wouldn't take the paper, 

For it didn't suit him quite; 
If it would change its politics 

Some future time he might. 
But one day when a fever 

Left Jim a-lying cold, 
That little country weekly 

The sweetest story told — 
Of Jim, the noble citizen, 

Of Jim, an honest man, 
Of Jim, the kindest husband — 

'Twas thus the story ran. 
And when the lonely widow 

Came in one day to see 
How much would be some extras 

He gave a dozen free. 

Joe Sponge was there in business, 

Not half a block away. 
He bought no advertising — 

He said it didn't pay, 
His letterhead used daily 

Bore cuts of axle grease, 
And dust came through the window 

And settled down in peace. 
When others boosted business 

By boosting for the town, 
When others spent their money 

Joe never would come down; 
They couldn't get a nickel 

Of him to make things go, 
He sat around and waited 

To catch the overflow, 
But one day Joe was busy 

A figuring intent, 



70 



On how to make some money 

And yet not spend a cent, 
When Gabriel's horn blew loudly 

And Joe he heard its call, 
And passed from earth forever 

O'er the dividing wall. 
That editor got busy 

And wrote a column "ad" 
Of how Joe Sponge, the merchant, 

Had made the town so sad, 
But some way as he wrote it, 

No tears came to his eyes, 
For something seemed to whisper, 

"He wouldn't advertise." 
And when he spoke of sorrow 

A whisper come — "How few 
There are who care, Dear Writer, 

Except myself and you." 
And when he spoke of kindness 

To some poor mortal done, 
A whisper louder than the rest 

Said, "Can you name just one?" 
Though it was an irksome duty, 

Yet boldly on he wrote, 
And though the words were sad, he felt 

No choking in his throat. 
And when his readers read it 

With eyes free from all tears, 
One statement's true they all agreed, 

"He lived here twenty years." 

Tall is the man that dwells above 
The mists of hate and scorn, 

That sees the sun beyond the cloud, 
The rose, before the thorn. 

He speaks the kindlier word for all, 
The living and the dead, 

71 



Works hard each day, misunderstood, 

Continues straight ahead, 
Discriminating, fearless, firm 

When evils override, 
He is the strength of every town 

The Nation's safest guide. 



72 



THE AFTERMATH 

Suggested by the Editorial Convention held at 
Trading Post, Kan., 1912 

Still dreaming of the river's bend, 

Where willow-tips the water touch; 
Still casting lines as we ascend 

To where the game-fish play so much; 
Still dreaming of the fish uncaught, 

Still basking in the water sweet, 
Where some could swim and some could not, 

Yet all could share the river's treat. 

Still list'ning to the swelling breeze 

That came to bear the heat away; 
Still basking 'neath the shady trees, 

And wishing we could always stay; 
Still rushing up the hill to greet 

The burdened table's welcome scene, 
With grateful hearts for such a treat, 

To both the Lord and Billy Been. 

Still dreaming of the auto's whirr, 

While threading lanes between the farms; 
Still list'ning to the words that stir 

Men's thoughts in days of war's alarms; 
Still dreaming, yes, our hearts still stay. 

More games, more climbs, more walks to try, 
For ties grew stronger every day — 

It was so hard to say Good-bye ! 



73 







TOMORROW I LL SIT WHERE THE STILL WATER PLOWS 
WITH MY POLE ON THE BANKS o' THE CRICK. 



TOO FAR FROM THE CRICK 

I reckon some fellows will differ from me — 

I can't help it though if they do; 

I've tried to live here in the city 'n' be 

Contented — but I'm in a stew. 

The streets are all paved 'n' the parks are kept 

clean, 
On these I'm not making a kick; 
I'm eating enough, but I'm long, thin and lean — 
I'm too far away from the crick. 

I hear all the noise 'n' the battle 'n' jar, 

And maybe it's music to some — 

The factory whistle, the rumbling street car, 

'N' the Salvation Army's big drum; 

But while they are rattlin' and bangin' away 

I get sorter lonesome 'n' sick 

'N' my mind wanders back to the sweet yesterday 

When I sat on the bank o' the crick. 

Yes, the dear windin' crick, it has captured my 

heart, 
I'm sighin' to be there today; 
I guess I will get on my fixins 'n' start 
(I wish for a permanent stay) ; 
So bring my old hat 'n' my fit easy cloze, 
I'm off where the bull-heads are thick — 
Tomorrow I'll sit where the still water flows 
With my pole, on the banks o' the crick. 



77 



THE DRUMMER 

"Good-bye, my love," and he kissed her again 

And the baby that nestled there. 
The babe with the blue of the skies in its eyes 

And with soft and golden hair; 
" Good-bye, my love, for I now must start. " 
And he hugged them again to his manly heart, 
His darling babe and his old sweetheart, 

For they were his pride and care. 

Out for a week, perhaps for a month, 

Only the fates could tell; 
Hustling for trade with a buoyant smile 

No matter what befell. 
Ever before him a picture fair, 
Sweetheart and babe, such a lovely pair; 
Well did he know they were lonely there, 

But he must stay and sell. 

Taking the train at the midnight hour 

Bound for the town ahead, 
Dozing away as the engine flew, 

Scarcely an hour in bed; 
Off the next morn for a ten mile drive 
After a sleep of from four to five, 
A lunch counter breakfast to keep him alive, 

But he didn't mind that, he said. 

Back into town for the "flyer" at noon; 

Luck was against him today; 
You never would guess from the glow on his face, 

Happy, serene and gay. 
A jolly he had with the fellow with "blues," 
And he did it so nice he could hardly refuse 
To place a small order he scarcely could use. 

"So long," and he was away. 

78 



Pegging away all the week with his might, 

Longing for Saturday eve. 
Telegram comes saying, "Billy, go quick 

And a misfortune retrieve; 
The dealer you sold, by the name of John Schmidt, 
Has a blue pencil line and his credit is 'nit/ 
The cuss has sold out and forgot to remit; 

Go find what he has up his sleeve. " 

Bouncing around like a ball in a box, 
(One that comes straight from the bat), 

Making all corners while dodging around, 
But a level head's under his hat. 

Only one day that he isn't quite well, 

Sunday — and he at a city hotel; 

Cannot get home, but he writes " I am well, 
Cheer up, my love, and stand pat." 

Some folks may think his job is a snap; 

He's welcome to it if it is. 
A stranger to beds and to regular meals, 

Ever alert for the biz; 
His smile blossoms there, though his heart may 

be sad, 
And he keeps a cool head when most folks would 

get mad. 
Wrings a clam's right hand just as if he is glad. 

And keeps up his steam so 'twill sizz. 



79 



WHEN BILLY AND I GO CAMPING 

When Billy and I went a camping, 
The leaves in the woods got a tramping, 
Our bright campfire burned till the hour of mid- 
night, 
And the owls in the tree tops looked down with 

affright; 
And the coyotes stole close to our tent every 

night, 
When Billy and I went a camping. 

When Billy and I went a camping, 

Out in the dark woods was a tramping, 

We heard the leaves rustle that lay brown and 

dead; 
We heard a twig snap as we covered our heads, 
For the Spirits of dead Indians moved near our 

bed, 
When Billy and I went a camping. 

When Billy and I went a camping, 

Out there in the woods was a tramping, 

We listened and heard a foot step so clear; 

And our hearts beat still louder from terror and 

fear, 
For the last one we heard was still closer, so near: 
When Billy and I went a camping. 

When Billy and I went a camping 

The Spirits of Indians were tramping, 

Their moans 'mong the trees we heard on each 

breeze; 
And they gazed at our campfire and cried "Who 

are these 
That dare to intrude where we once were at ease, " 
When Billy and I went a camping. 

80 




AND THE COYOTES STOLE CLOSE TO OUR TENT EVERY NIGHT. 














AND OUK HEARTS BEAT STILL LOUDER FROM TERROR 
AND FEAR. 




AND THEN GAZED AT OUR CAMPFIRE AND CRIED WHO 
ARE THESE?" 



When Billy and I went a camping, 

Around our white tent was a tramping, 

And the Spirit of Black Wolf who once tented 

there 
On his White Specter Horse with his black flowing 

hair, 
Made a charge with his spear, then dissolved in the 

air, 
When Billy and I went a camping. 

When Billy and I went a camping, 

We listened all night to the tramping. 

Oh, our tent it was tight, for the arrows that fly 

From the bow of Black Wolf and his trained Evil 

Eye; 
Still seek for revenge and if touched we would 

die, 
When Billy and I went a camping. 

When Billy and I went a camping, 
On the old Indian Camp-Ground, a tramping 
Began at midnight, and the night that we stayed, 
We saw stalking by us a tall Indian Maid 
With a skull on her Spear but we wasn't afraid 
When Billy and I went a camping. 

When Billy and I went a camping, 

We wasn't afraid of the tramping; 

Bill says " 'Tis a bird," that noise that we hear, 

While we sat there so chilly from cold, not from 

fear; 
And he said, "They w-o-n-'-t h-u-r-t u-s if they 

d-o come here, " 
When Billy and I went a camping. 



85 



SHUT YOUR EYES, DEARIES 

Shut your eyes, Dearies, I'm coming right soon, 
Coming tonight by the light of the moon. 
Over the prairies and down through the wood, 
Out to your homes where my reindeer once stood, 
Yes, to your homes, both in city and town, 
At you I'll peep on your pillows of down, 
Just a "wee" moment I'll be there tonight — 
Shut your eyes, Dearies, oh, shut your eyes tight. 

Shut your eyes, Dearies, you, Tommy and Joe, 
Shut your eyes tight when I come through the 

snow. 
Dream of tomorrow's sweet hours with your 

toys, 
Dream of tomorrow, oh, lighthearted boys; 
Down in your pillows soft let your heads sink, 
Thinking of me till too drowsy to wink. 
Oh, that each home could but see the sweet sight — 
Shut your eyes, Dearies, oh, shut your eyes tight. 

Shut your eyes, Dearies, sweet Mary and Sue, 

Little Blue Eyes, I am thinking of you. 

I have some dolls with the sweetest of curls, 

Dolls just for you, Dearies, sweet little girls. 

I have some beds and some carriages, too, 

Made just for dollies, perhaps they're for you. 

I've a big load for my auto tonight — 

Shut your eyes, Dearies, oh, shut your eyes tight. 

Shut your eyes, Dearies, and drift to sweet sleep ; 
May the sweet fancies of childhood e'er keep 
Fresh in your hearts, Dearies, for a whole year, 
"Santa Claus" loves you, will visit you here. 
Drear is the home where no sweet curly heads 
Dream of tomorrow on soft downy beds. 
Help then to fill every home with delight, 
Where the sweet Dearies will shut their eyes tight. 

86 



THE MOVIN' WAGON MAN 

A movin' wagon feller, I guess that's wot I am. 
Been in every state almost that's jined to Uncle 

Sam, 
Chasin' fickle fortune from the Rockies to the 

East, 
Yet of all who have the coin I s'pose I own the 

least. 
Ev'ry time I settle down some one makes a strike 
In some other corner so I jes' git up an' hike, 
But before I get there the choicest claims are tuck 
An' I am up against it in the hardest kind o' luck, 
Then I work a little while an' pick up wot I can 
But it's mighty scanty pickin' fer a movin' wagon 

man. 




A MOVIN WAGON FELLER, I GUESS 
THAT'S WOT I AM. 



87 



Alius move each summer. I don't know why 

it's so. 
But I jes can't help it when the grass begins to 

grow, 
Travelin' in the sunshine an' stoppin' when it 

rains, 
Seems to sort o' charm me so invitin' is the plains. 
Went one spring to Texas in my wagon fer to see 
If there wasn't money raisin' cattle there for me. 
Never had occurred to me till I arrived somehow 
That I hadn't money fer to buy a single cow. 
So wot could a feller do, a feller of my clan, 
But jes keep on a-movin' like a movin' wagon 

man? 







^y 


gg^y 












gjftJbtti 


r£p 










Ay UP 




Hi? 


<T' 







AN STOPPIN WHEN IT RAINS. 



88 



Went to Colorado when the gold mines first were 

found. 
Tuck a little claim and went to diggin' in the 

ground. 
Found that I got hungry, though the prospects 

there were sweet 
An' had to trade the thing off fer to get some 

things to eat. 
Heerd of Californy then an' off I went again, 
On across the Rockies where I heerd so many 

men 
Hed, with little energy, picked up a fortune soon 
Cultivatin' lemons, luscious oranges an' prunes. 
Two hundred plunks an acre was the price o' land 

out there 
An' movin' wagon fellers alius don't hev that to 

spare. 




TUCK A LITTLE CLAIM AND WENT DIGGIN EST THE GROUND. 



89 



So I've chased the rainbows from the Rockies to 

the East; 
Alius figerin' on the most an' gittin' 'bout the 

least. 
Fer it's alius been my luck, it seems a plaguy 

shame, 
To find some other feller calmly holdin' down my 

claim. 
But I'm not down hearted fer I'm not that sort 

o* cuss — 
Never struck it yet so tough but wot it might be 

wuss. 
Think I'll keep on movin' fer there's surely yet 

in store 
Somethin' fer a hustler, though I'm upwards o' 

three score. 
On the way to Kansas now where oil is flowin' 

free. 
To bore me out a gusher that is waitin' there fer 

me. 




ON THE WAT TO KANSAS NOW WHERE OIL IS FLOWIn' FREE. 



90 



OCTOBER'S CALL 

Do you ever in the fall, 
Hear the sighing woodland's call, 
When the frosts of autumn turn the leaves to 
brown? 
Do you ever feel a thrill, 
Of delight in autumn's chill, 
When the deep, dark shades of evening settle 
down? 

Do you ever like to be, 

Like the aborigine, 
In a tent down in the woodland dark and wild, 

Where the Hoot Owls with delight, 

Chill with terror and affright, 
Those who in their lonely haunts may be beguiled? 

Do you love the camp fire's light, 

Sputtering, sparkling, burning bright, 
Then receding as the dying of the day? 

Do you love the lullabies, 

Of the zephyrs as they rise, 
And among the forest branches softly play? 

Come, then, 'tis October calling, 

And the ripened nuts are falling, 
And we'll build a booming camp fire near the tent, 

For the year is not complete, 

If we miss October's treat. 
'Tis the sweetest hour the year has ever sent. 



91 



WHEN SHE IS GONE 

It is not home there now, for she is gone, 

No light shines through the window when I 
come, 
No welcome kiss, but gravelike silence reigns 

Within the house, and I, I am but dumb. 
I cannot talk when there are none to hear, 

Or sing when only mocking echoes taunt, 
I hasten through the work that I must do, 

And flee as if it was some specter's haunt. 

What is it, heart of mine, that makes thee still 

And listless, as if sunlight ne'er had been 
Within thy portals? Why dost thou not hear 

The music of the birds when they begin 
Their morning carols? And why dost thou fear 

The evening shades as they come creeping on? 
That bid me leave my work and to return? 

Is it — is it because that she is gone? 

Does longing for a footstep make thee dull 

And irresponsive? Dost thou miss a voice 
That cheered thee as the sweet dew to a flower 

When rains come not? And wilt thou yet re- 
joice 
And be care-free and filled with songs again? 

I hear thee say, " My listless self will stir, 
And joy and hope and songs and sweet sunshine, 

And my dear home will all come back with her. " 

Spring Hill, Kan. 



92 




HE LL BE FOUND DOWN AT THE STORE 
ON A NAIL KEG NEAR THE DOOR. 



OLD JOE GASSER— NAILKEG TOWN 

TELLIN' HOW THINGS OUGHT TO BE 

Nailkeg town's not far away, 
It's the place where fellers stay 
All the day and half the night 
Talkin' 'bout the latest fight 
Er discussin' politics, 
Er insurance grafters' tricks. 

Old Joe Gasser lives down there 
'Nd when Joe has time to spare 
He'll be found down at the store 
On a nail keg near the door, 
Tellin' how things ought to be, 
'Nd his lectures all are free. 

Joe was born in seven states 
If the stories he relates 
Are all true — but when a boy 
He lived in "Old IUinoy"— 
Knew "Abe Lincoln" like a book, 
He 'nd Lincoln often took 
Trips out in the woods together, 
'Nd split rails in stormy weather. 

Not a senator of note 

But Old Joe has had to tote 

To the school through drifts of snow, 

In the days of long ago. 

Often loaned his overcoat 

To Joe Cannon — 'nd he wrote 

Grant to keep free from the blues 

When he worked at peggin' shoes, 

"Fer there was a brighter day 

Comin' soon with better pay. " 



95 



Says "Jim" Garfield (calls him Jim 
'Cause he chummed so much with him), 
Was the hardest feller yit 
He ever "rassled with" or fit. 
Thus from morning until night 
Tongue a-waggin', eyes still bright, 
Joe keeps tellin' of the bents 
'N' boyish pranks of presidents, 
"Postedest" man yet ever foun', 
Old Joe Gasser, Nailkeg town. 



96 



UNCLE JAKE AND HIS SON BILL BUY 
FRUIT ON THE TRAIN 

Me 'n' Bill's been off agin 

Ter the city; it's a sin • 

Fer a man not to git out 

Fer awhile an' roam about, 

Fer a feller if he stays 

In the ken try all his days, 

Gits so rusty after while 

Thet he don't keer much fer style. 

Been six months jes' to a day 

Since we'd la'd our clothes away 

From last wearin'; so you see 

In the kentry Bill an' me 

Don't put on much airs, but when 

We git to the city, then 

We fix up; our boots was hard 

'Fore we started, but the lard 

We rubbed on jes' went right through, 

Softened 'em jes' like a shoe. 

We rid on a railroad car, 
'N' there was a feller thar, 
Sellin' apples, an' that cuss 
Got us fellers in a muss ; 
Jes' 'cause me 'n' Bill we tuck 
Some to eat — gol ding the luck. 
Told him, we did — if he'd come 
Down to Possum crick on some 
Day when we was there he'd git 
Half a bushel finer yit 
Than them was — and not a red 
Would we charge him; but he said 
He was not there for his health 
But was hustlin' now fer wealth. 



97 



"Wot ye charge?" said Bill as he 
Bit a piece off number three, 
'N' I'd eaten three or four 
'N' was reachin' out fer more. 
"Fifty cents," sed he to Bill, 
'N' says I: "By jings, let's fill 
Right up now, that's cheap as dirt — 
Half a bushel wouldn't hurt 
At that price." An' so we et 
Till we 'lowed we was in debt 
'Bout a dime er fifteen cents 
Fer them apples was immense. 

Bill he said he'd pay the bill, 
But I told him to keep still, 
I'd attend ter it, and so 
I dug down to git the dough. 
Well, by jings, ef I'm alive, 
I give that ther cuss a five 
'N' he kept it all but two 
Fer them apples — 'n' Je-hu, 
I was mad — I thought at once 
He had tuck me fer a dunce. 

"Young man," says I, "give her back 
All but fifteen, er I'll crack 
That dern pumpkin on yer neck, 
'N' I'll leave yer frame a wreck." 
'N' I reached fer him, but, pshaw! 
Bill had landed on his jaw; 
'N' thet feller like a flash 
Struck against the winder-sash. 
Then two niggers — dressed ter kill — 
Jolted me an' swatted Bill; 
'N' when that ther scrap was o'er 
Me an' Bill lay on the floor. 



98 



Then a feller settin' there 
Said we was a dandy pair; 
Said thet we would be immense 
Ef we wasn't short of sense; 
Said thet fruit man meant to say 
Me 'n' Bill would have to pay 
Fifty cents fer what we'd et, 
'Fore we priced 'em. Now I bet 
We won't git caught on thet hook 
Any more by sich a crook. 

Bill says once thet he had read 
'Bout train robbers, but he said 
He thought they used pistols, though, 
When they held folks up fer dough, 
'Nsted of apples, 'n' I guess, 
There ain't much chance fer redress. 
Some day though when me 'n' Bill 
Git a chance — but keep her still — 
We're a goin' to go back 
With some apples in a sack; 
'N' we'll find 'em, if we can, 
Them two niggers 'n' the man, 
'N' we'll break their on'ry necks 
Er git nine dollars fer three pecks. 



99 



THE FOOLISH WOODPECKER 

A woodpecker once, 
A sort of a dunce, 

And who as a warbler not much of a siren, 
Passed by many trees 
Where he might have with ease 
Bored out a nice hole to his hunger appease, 
*For a lofty church steeple made out of 
sheet iron. 

He whetted his bill, 

And then with good-will 

And a thrumpty-thrum-thrum he started 

to bore, 
Nor let up until 
The end of his bill 
Was worn off so much that it gave him a 

chill 
And the back of his bobber began to get 

sore. 

A black bird and wren, 

A rooster and hen, 

A crow and a sparrow were watching him 

drill, 
And squinted one eye 
At his birdship so high, 
So far from the earth that he looked like a 

fly 

And wondered how long he could work 
with good- will. 

*The steeple referred to is the one on the M. P. Church at 
Spring Hill, Kansas. 



100 



When his bobber gave out 

He gave a faint shout 

To the crowd that was watching him down 

on the ground, 
And said, Come up here 
Where the air is so clear 
And lend me a hand, for a worm is so near 
Whenever I peck I can hear his faint sound. 

Then the blackbird and wren 

And the sparrow and hen 

And the crow that were watching him, 

called from below 
And said, "Silly Goose, 
Your work's of no use, 
You might drill in that iron until your 

head's loose. 
You have no more sense than some men 

that we know." 



101 



THE SPRING HILL CEMETERY 

For fifty years we have laid them here; 

One by one — day by day; 
Brothers and sisters and parents dear; 

Tenderly laid them away. 
About each grave where the marble shaft 

Points above, we have gathered there; 
Bidding good-bye through the flowing tears; 

Breathing a silent prayer, 

As one by one — day by day, 
We silently, tenderly laid them away. 

For fifty years — Ah, who was the first? 

The first to claim this bed of clay; 
An Immigrant died at the camp one night 

And here they laid him away. 
A babe was brought to rest by his side 

A mother soon by its side was laid 
And the Reaper entered a home and took 

A sweet child as it played; 

And one by one — day by day, 
We silently, tenderly laid them away. 

Years have flown — like the sheaves of grain 

At set of sun on harvest day; 
The shafts now stand our eyes to greet 

Where the Reaper's blade held sway. 
Not with a rush as of "armored hosts 

Comes the gleaner bold who tents this field "- 
But a gentle touch where our loved may be 

And one by one they yield; 

And one by one — day by day, 
We silently, tenderly lay them away. 



102 



Yes, one by one and day by day 

Shall we who live be garnered too, 
And share with these this bed of clay 

When this fleeting life is through; 

Yes, babes unborn and the hoary heads; 
The meek and the proud; the rich and the gay 
With us shall come at the Reaper's call 

As the night must follow the day; 

And one by one — day by day 
With us shall be tenderly laid away. 



103 



JEAN ELEANOR WILKERSON 

Oh! our hearts leapt with joy on that morning, 

When sweet little Jean asked a part 
Of our home and our care and our fortune, 

And the love of a fond parent's heart. 
And the sunshine of love filled our musings, 

And added a charm to our words. 
Oh! our baby's first cry on that morning, 

Was sweeter than songs of the birds. 

With rapture we stood by her cradle, 

And peeped at the loving blue eyes, 
And noted each change of her features, 

When e'er there was cause for surprise; 
And then as the weeks followed swiftly 

We noted the changes that came, 
And how her eyes searched for the voices 

When e'er we would call her by name. 

Oh! happy the home with the baby, 

For music and harmony dwell, 
For the burdens of toil press so lightly 

When fond hearts with music doth swell. 
And though we have lost her, the sweetness 

Of joy that was ours for a day, 
Shall ever be treasured and cherished, 

Shall ever be with us to stay. 



104 



>"<Jl r- 






czrr\ 



K^ 




CI 



*J 



"FROM KANSAS?" SAID ST. PETER. 



DOIN' THINGS IN KANSAS 

We're raisin' cane in Kansas, 

But not the Cain of old; 
We're raisin' corn in Kansas, 

That turns to yellow gold; 
We're raisin' wheat in Kansas, 

And we've a lot to spare — 
(Two hundred by four hundred 

Will grow wheat anywhere.) 

We're raisin' hogs in Kansas, 

Yes, raisin' 'em on hay — ■ 
Alfalfa in the meadows 

Has come with us to stay — 
And cattle browse the pastures 

Where the wild buffalo 
W T ere roamin' in the desert 

Not fifty years ago. 

We're pumpin' oil in Kansas, 

And sendin' it away; 
We're lightin' up the cities, 

With gas, as bright as day. 
And hens lay eggs and cackle 

(No better payin' crop), 
And separator butter 

Sells at the very top. 

A feller died in Kansas, 

And went to Heaven's door, 
And asked to gain admission, 

To stay forever more. 
"From Kansas?" said St. Peter, 

"Your brain sure has a crack, 
Y' better oil yer motor, 

Git in and hike right back. " 

107 



SING A SONG EACH GLADSOME 

DAY 

Sing a song each gladsome day, 

Others then will join your singing, 
And your cares will fly away, 

As the music starts to ringing. 
Life is short, too short for fretting, 

Worry only shortens life; 
Spend your time in sunshine getting, 

Not in tumult nor in strife. 

Let the sunshine in your soul, 

Do not try to keep it out; 
Help to make the dark clouds roll 

From the dismal sky of doubt. 
Let the music of the world, 

Echo from a cheerful heart; 
And if envious darts be hurled. 

Let them be of yours no part. 

As the sunshine to the world, 

As the dew is to the flower, 
Or to droughty fields in spring, 

Is the gentle April shower, 
Is the cheerful happy f ace — 

Are the hearts that sing each day, 
Making earth a brighter place, 

As we travel Life's pathway. 



108 



JES' BECAUSE HE'S BUILT THAT 
WAY 

Windy Lige lie stands around 
Where folks work 'n' makes a sound 
Like a bellows in a shop 
Where a blacksmith makes things pop 
An' he tells 'n' tells o' things 
That he's done, 'n' says, "I Jings 
If folks listened to my song 
People wouldn't do things wrong. " 
But the workers go ahead 
Jes' as if he hadn't said 
Anything. But Lige don't know 
Why his wind don't make a show; 
Lacks a little where he's gray, 
Jes' because he's built that way. 

Gripin' Jim's another cuss, 
Happiest when in a fuss, 
Jealous of the folks he meets 
Simply grunts to those he greets; 
Mad at neighbors for a year 
If he loses one poor steer. 
In a tantrum if the rain 
Falls upon the ripened grain; 
Cows all breachy as can be 
(But not any more than he) . 
Pecks of trouble come to him, 
Moping, grunting, Gripin' Jim. 
'Tis no wonder," people say, 
"Jes' because he's built that way." 



109 



Easy Zim's another one — 
'Most too lazy to have fun — 
He would make a fisher great 
If someone would dig the bait, 
But the diggin's just too tough 
On the nerves, and then it's rough 
Sit tin' on a log all day 
With no back-brace for a stay. 
If "next week" would ever come 
He would surely make things hum, 
For that date he always sets 
For to work and pay his debts, 
Then he'll work and then he'll pay, 
Jes' because he's built that way. 

Hustlin' Joe's another chap 

That gets out while others nap; 

Does things every day 'n' hour, 

Always sunny, never sour, 

Tho' the cloudy days may come, 

Yet his heart keeps up the hum 

Of the music stored within — 

Songs of hope that always win — 

And his neighbors love to meet 

Hustlin' Joe on road or street, 

For where Hope and Courage go 

They resemble Hustlin' Joe. 

Sweet or sour or glum or gay 

Folks are, 'cause they're built that way. 



110 



BINGTOWN'S PREPARATIONS FOR 
PRINCE HENRY 

Written for the Mail and Breeze when Prince 
Henry visited this country. 

Bingtown will entertain him; 

You bet she'll do her best 
If Henry comes to Kansas 

'N' gits this far out West. 
We talked the hull thing over 

Last night down at the store, 
'N' we can entertain him 

An even week or more. 

Bill Sipes he's got a section 

O' prerry, jinin' Baker, 
'N' one kin jump jackrabbits 

On ev'ry doggon aker, 
'N' Baker's got some greyhounds 

He'll get right into trim 
'N' if Prince Henry's comin' 

We'll show a time to him. 

On Perry crick the coyotes 

Are killin' sheep again; 
Two nights ago they killed one 

Fer Si Jones, in the pen. 
Si says there is a dozen 

A layin' long the crick, 
But says he'll not disturb 'em 

If Henry's comin' quick. 

Si wants to hev a wolf hunt 

When Henry comes to town. 
He'll have the Prerry Crickers 

Come an' escort him down; 
He'll loan him his breech-loader 

'N' regular huntin' suit 
'N' git him a position 

Where ke Ion git to shoot. 
Ill 



The band's jist wild about it; 

They meet now ev'ry night 
'N' blow till after midnight, 

T' git their pieces right, 
Fer Henry knows good play in' 

'N' likes the fife 'n' drum, 
'N' Bingtown's bound to please him, 

No matter what the sum. 

We're gwine to hev a hoss race 

Twixt ole Jim Decker's mare 
'N' one owned by a feller 

Across the crick somewhere, 
'N' Deekin Love of Rocktown 

'N' our own Deekin Rizen 
Will have a three hours' set-to 

On forms of church baptizin'. 

'N' then to show Prince Henry 

Thet Bingtown's hard to catch, 
We're goin' to invite him 

To 'tend a shootin' match 
Where Long Barrel'd Pete, our townsman, 

Will shoot with Snake Eyed Bill. 
You bet we'll entertain him 

Till he has got his fill. 

We tuck up a collection 

To buy a lovin' cup, 
'N' this we'll spring upon him 

About the windin' up, 
Fer Bingtown likes good fellers, 

'N' she will do her best 
If we kin git Prince Henry 

To visit us out West. 



112 



ROCKVILLE'S WIND JAMMING JAKE 

Wind Jamming Jake, so long, lean and lank 

Built very much like a 2 x 4 plank. 

A wonderful noddle he carries around 

But never topheavy (though so far from the 

ground.) 
No parrot that ever was hatched is as smart, 
As this 2 by 4 who has come to our mart. 
Our Wind Jamming Jake, ere he'd been here a 

day, 
Hiked out to the church house to sing and to pray. 
He prayed loud and long for the saving of others, 
And then tried to borrow a ten from the brothers , 
But somehow the brothers that day had by chance 
Left all of their change with their every day pants. 
His ponderous mind then was turned to the school, 
And he saw at a glance all its faults and misrule; 
They needed new blood on the school board 'twas 

plain, 
And he "might accept the great burden and 

strain, " 
But strangely the people who voted that day, 
Upon a high shelf gently laid him away. 
To politics then went this man of high thought 
And it was a wonderful change that he wrought, 
The people came out and they listened intent, 
To the wonderful shots that this Wind Jammer 

sent, 
And the fellows that gathered around on the 

ground, 
All said to a man it was "Wonderful s-o-u-n-d" 
Wind Jamming Jake, better far than a snake, 
In manner and conduct, then wrote a queer fake, 
And peddled it 'round for the neighbors to read 
And asked that each reader take warning and 

heed — 



1113 



And the people all read it, but urged on the giver, 
"To try castor oil for his disordered liver." 
Discouraged? ah no, but still with us he's found, 
Highminded as ever, (six feet from the ground.) 
'Mong lodges and socials he's now seeking fame, 
Still wondering why his blamed luck is the same, 
But the thought here suggested was never his 

own, 
"To attend to his business, let others alone." 



114 



s'<"£JT 




^z> 



Wrv 



-\ 



•^ =r~ r^ 






Floyd PowfrS. 



TO WATCH THE BIRDS RETURNING. 



APRIL'S CALL 

I wish to wander — wander listlessly, 

Somewhere along the lanes to gather flowers, 
And to the gentle woods where buds are green, 

To hide in some wild nook from April showers. 
The woods are calling and the babbling brook 

Invites me to its banks that I may hear 
Its low sweet murmur, as it ripples on 

O'er winding stony ways so sweet and clear. 

I wish to wander — wander listlessly, 

Without a destination, just to be 
Where'er my feet may carry, without cares — 

With childlike faith again a wanderer free 
To watch the birds returning and to see 

The swelling buds grow larger day by day, 
And feel at peace again with this old Earth, 

Forgetting cares as when in youth at play. 

Yes, let dear Earth be mine as days of old, 

A play-house only, where care-free I roam, 
And let Dame Nature with its April songs, 

Its hopes and treasures, be my heart's sweet 
home. 
Let me again forget all strife and care, 

My heart burst forth in song once more today 
While I just ramble through the lanes and woods 

Care free again, care free as when at play. 



117 



MY FRIEND 

Who loves the beautiful music 
Of the rippling waters' flow, 
Or the falling of the snow flakes 
When the wintry wind doth blow, 
Or the noisy crow's harsh cawing, 
Or the sigh of the autumn breeze 
Is a friend, a dear companion 
W 7 ith whom my heart's at ease. 

Who sees the first sweet flower 

That peeps from the mellow ground, 

Who stops in adoration 

WTien the lark's sweet notes resound, 

Who notes the sweet buds swelling 

Wh.en winter has flown at last, 

Is a lover true of nature 

And a friend of mine, steadfast. 

WTio loves the crow of the infant 
Or the prattle of children sweet, 
The noise of their merry laughter 
And the tramp of their busy feet, 
Or the blush of the modest maiden 
WTien a sweet bouquet is thrown, 
Is a friend, a dear companion 
I am proud to call my own. 



118 



AT PEACE WITH THE WORLD 

I'm at peace with the world tonight, 

For the dear old world seems good, 
For the Western sky is bright 

As it crowns the Western wood. 
And the green fields stretch away 

With the hedges embroidered 'round, 
And I hear the lark's dear lay 

And the crooning doves' sweet sound. 

At peace with the world, yes, the storm 

And the clouds of business care 
Have taken the peaceful form 

That a master makes them wear, 
And I dwell in the blue above 

With only the good things said, 
With only the whispers of Love 

And friendship 'round my bed. 

At peace with the world, not a sting 

Of the hard things said remain, 
For my soul — serene and a-wing 

Is proof from the darts of pain, 
All envious thoughts taken flight 

Forgiven the ones for me, 
I'm at peace with the world tonight, 

At peace with the world — I am free. 



119 



THE SANTA FE TRAIL 

Written on the dedication of the marker on the 
Santa Fe Trail at Lone Elm, Johnson County, 
Kansas. 

Fifty years — 'Twas a prairie then 
And the deer roamed wild and free; 
Fifty years — I see it again 
As it appeared to me. 

The old trail ran where the barn stands now, 
The trail was here long before the plow, 
And we drove ox teams with sometimes a cow, 
In the days that use to be. 

Fifty years — Yes I lived here then 

And a lively place 'twas too. 

Wagons for miles with their fearless men 

Coming and passing from view. 

On the wagon covers "Pike's Peak or bust!" 

Yes, the fever was high for the yellow dust 

Just a lot of grit and then their luck to trust, 

For those that won were few. 

Fifty years — 'Twas a camping ground 
Where the trees now cast their shade, 
And the faithful oxen rambled around 
And rarely if ever strayed, 
And the camp fires burned each night of the 

year 
In the pastures there and the cornfields here, 
Yet I slept each night with never a fear, 
And many the friends I made. 



120 



Yes, fifty years — What a striking change 

From the way we do things now, 

No less these farms from the boundless range 

Or the way we sow and plow 

The sickle is gone and the binder's here, 

But the sickle still to my heart is dear, 

But I look in vain for the roving deer 

And the prairie chicken now. 

Fifty years — Ah, I love to know 

That the old trail shall remain, 

That the markers tell in the years to go 

Where the ox teams crossed the plain 

Of the men who travelled the toilsome way 

But few are left to tell it today, 

But their march was Progress on its way, 

And its glory ne'er shall wane. 



121 



"EASY JOE" 

Easy Joe lives on a farm, 
Takes things quiet — wouldn't harm 
Any man on earth, not he — 
Just as kind as he can be. 
Folks they call him Easy Joe, 
And they know him, high and low, 
Know him for the good he's done, 
Like him for he's full of fun. 
Though they call him Easy Joe, 
In some ways he's not so slow. 
Men a-selling lightning rods 
Found him one day 'mong the clods. 
Told him 'bout a dozen yarns 
Of the lightning striking barns. 
Told him how his rods would draw 
Cordin' to the natural law, 
Every bolt that might come near, 
And he need not have a fear, 
For with rods his barn would be 
Safe from lightning; plain to see. 
Joe, he took a fresher chew 
Off his plug, then said he'd do 
What they wished him to, " By Jing 
" When the fall came in the spring, 
"Or when old age came in youth, 
"Or when peddlers told the truth; 
" 'Twas insured, and so, Gol dern, 
"If it struck, why let her burn." 



122 



SHORT-SIGHTED PETER 

Short-sighted Peter, you know him I know, 
You'll stumble upon him wherever you go. 
His hatchet-like face and his low, rasping voice, 
Are never intended to make one rejoice, 
Unless it is when he is going away, 
And his going prolonged to a permanent stay. 

Short-sighted Peter, he lives in the dark, 
With owlet and bat, where there's never a spark 
Of sunny good nature or song light and gay, 
Comes drifting along for to brighten the way. 
He grunts when he speaks and his heart fills with 

pain, 
If every faint effort don't show him a gain. 

Short-sighted Peter he once joined the Grange, 
And spent a whole dollar — he did — of his change. 
But his far better half, when she wished to go too 
Was told by old Peter it never would do, 
For the cost was so great and no greater the gain, 
And the paying of dues was a terrible strain. 

Short-sighted Peter, no thought but for self, 
Sordid and greedy and grasping for pelf, 
Seemed to forget when the school year began, 
Seemed to forget till his boy was a man, 
That the school is the place for the children of ten, 
Instead of at work in the place of hired men. 

Short-sighted Peter, they'll take him some day, 
Up to the churchyard and lay him away. 
Then the old farm and the wealth that it gave, 
Will be a sweet plum for the lawyers to "save." 
If your name is "Peter," it's time for a change; 
No short-sighted Peters we want in the Grange. 

123 



THE BIGGEST DURN FOOLS ON THE 

CRICK 

Each year as the month of October comes on 

With a chill in the air just at night, 
We roll up the tent and we hike for the woods 

For a lark where the camp fire is bright. 
For the spirit of camping just pulls at our hearts, 

And wins every time at the trick, 
Tho' the neighbors may say as they see us go by, 

"They're the biggest durn fools on the crick.' 

For we roll up the logs right in front of the tent, 

And we carry in straw for the beds, 
And we make a hall tree from a sapling close by, 

And hang on the togs from our heads; 
Then we rake out the ashes and roll the spuds in 

And cover them over with embers, 
And the supper we have when the coffee is made, 

Once tasted, one always remembers. 

Oh ! the stories we tell when the supper is o'er, 

Oh! the noises so strange all around us, 
When the booty owl hoots as he circles about, 

As if screaming because he had found us. 
The blazing at times as the camp fire recedes, 

The dying so slow of the embers — 
The one who has tasted the joy of camp life, 

Forever and ever remembers! 

What a sweet, happy change from the humdrum 
of work, 

So care-free with camp fire a glowing; 
No thought of tomorrow — just living today — 

Wliat happens, not caring or knowing. 
Then pulling up stakes for the drive to our homes, 

In the morning with hearts beating quick, 
Not caring if others who ne'er camped, may say, 

"They're the biggest durn fools on the crick.' 1 

124 



THE OLD COUNTRY STORE 

Oh, the old country store with the candy jars in it, 

And the bag of green coffee that sat by the door; 
The barrel of sorghum with plug driven in it, 

That leaked every hour a few drops on the floor. 
The barrel of crackers with cover beside it, 

The cheese, where a patron could pilfer a bite. 
The jugs and the jars with the straw in between 
them, 

When I was a boy 'twas a source of delight. 

Piled up on the counter, the "hickory shirting" — 

A stripe and a plaid for the patrons to choose. 
Some featherproof ticking, some ducking for 
"breeches," 

Some calicos, ginghams, a few pairs of shoes, 
A barrel of kraut never spoiled in the making, 

How good it did taste when I tiptoed a wee, 
And the "gingersnap cookies" that came in the 
boxes, 

What a treat to have one of them given to me. 

The old country store, what a charm to the young- 
ster 
The hogshead of sugar (sometimes mixed with 
sand), 
And if I was there when the "store man" was 
opening, 
A lump of its sweetness was placed in my hand. 
The coffee pots stood in a row on the shelving, 

The old iron boilers and tubs down below, 
A can of gunpowder and shot for the hunters 
And the "waterproof" caps that oft times 
wouldn't go. 



125 



Oh, the old country store, what a joy there to visit 

With postoffice boxes, 'mong cobwebs galore, 
That gave us the letters and papers on Monday, 

That rode in the mails for a fortnight or more. 
Oh, never a city with street cars and bridges 

And viaducts, factories — yea, all of these, 
Can e'er beat the store at the cross roads on 
Cow creek 

Where first I bought candy and crackers and 
cheese. 



126 



A FADED AMBITION 

Oh, give me tonight the thoughts of my soul 

That oh, are so dark and so drear; 
Oh, wild roaring winds and black flying clouds, 

Pray whisper your sad message here. 
For the storm overhead and my thoughts are as 
one, 

And my soul is so full tonight, 
That sweet sleep has flown from the storm now 
within; 

Oh, let me your sad message write. 



Oh, wild roaring winds and black flying clouds, 

Now well do I know your sad story; 
You bear me the wail of a once hungry soul 

That panted in youth for glory. 
And fond hope eternal still beckoned it on, 

And onward expectant it followed, 
Till the swift blackened shadows rushed out from 
the dale 

And the glittering landscape swallowed. 

And then from the soul came a sharp, piercing 
cry 

When the pathway was closed before it, 
And the raging winds came hurrying by, 

And over the land they bore it. 
And sad is the soul that hears it tonight, 

The message the storm clouds bearing, 
When the goal is not reached, yet the sunshine 
gone, 

And a soul is left despairing. 



127 



SANDY HILL'S HOPES 

Our hopes are high at Sandy Hill, 

Fer we've been makin' hay, 
We've got all uv our papers signed 

'Nd mailed 'em out to-day. 
We're figgerin' on a lot o' spoils, 

Fer jes' one little place — 
But we are different from most towns, 

We've met Bill face to face. 

Bill Taft was here a year ago, 

When he was whirlin' round 
The circle 'nd pronounced this place 

The prettiest he had found. 
He smiled at every one he saw, 

'Nd told us he was proud 
To see us Old Ohio Folks 

Predominate the crowd. 

Bill Needful wants postmaster here, 

'Nd surely can't be beat, 
Fer he showed Bill the restaurant, 

Some two blocks down the street; 
'Nd while they sauntered through the crowd, 

The two Bills side by side, 
Tom Green, who's fightin' fer the place, 

With envy almost died. 

Judge Hooper thinks he's big enough 

Fer Consul in Peru, 
Or Mexico, or any place, 

(So there ain't much to do.) 
The Judge held an umbrella 

Over Bill 'nd kept the sun 
From burnin' round his collar 

When the millin' had begun. 

128 




FEB HE SHOWED BILL THE RESTAUBANT, 
SOME TWO BLOCKS DOWN THE STREET. 



John Tucker furnished buttermilk 

To cool the Judge's thirst — 
He only wants a Judgeship, 

But his itch is sure the worst. 
He weighs three hundred, and fer years 

He's "practiced 'round" the bar. 
And if it's weight that Judge Taft wants, 

John Tucker is the star. 

There's other rods up in the air 

To draw the lightnin' here, 
But all of 'em can't hope to land — 

At least that's what we fear. 
But with our close relations 

To the Judge and his good will, 
We're hopin' fer a dozen plums 

At least, fer Sandy Hill. 



131 



TO ACCOMPANY A WEDDING 
PRESENT 

May pain and sorrow visit never 

May peace and joy dwell with you ever; 

May the fond ties you've formed ne'er sever, 

And when at last 
The sunset of your lives draws nearer 
May peaceful paths grow brighter, clearer 
And friendship ties grow stronger, dearer 

Till life is past. 



132 



THE PIONEER STORE AT SPRING HILL, 

KANSAS 

The counters were not polished (only where the 
loafers sat), 
But little light shone through the window small, 
A sack of Rio coffee made a snug bed for the cat, 

The shelves extended hah way up the wall. 
'Twas just a "general" country store, at least 
they called it so, 
Perhaps because they generally were out 
Of what the people wanted, and the customer 
must go 
With things with which they often were in 
doubt. 

But stores are only ventures and the first must feel 
its way 
And this was like all others of its kind; 
Some groceries and hardware, just enough to 
load a dray, 
Was largely then with what the shelves were 
lined. 
But there was more than merchandise dispensed 
there ev'ry day, 
When settlers from the Wea and Ten Mile, 
And roaring, raging Bull Creek, and the Blue, 
ten miles away, 
Spat on the stove and visited awhile. 



133 



The stories of the growing corn (" Nigh on to boot- 
top high") 
The planting of the hedge (the future fence). 
The digging of the spring and well and finding 
water nigh, 
Were stories then of interest intense, 
And sandwiched in with others was a yarn from 
Uncle Dan 
Of yesterday when crossing at the ford, 
He caught six cats with just one bait, the way 
his story ran, 
The least of them as long as Berkshire's sword. 

And Uncle Bill would tell 'em how he sewed his 
buttons on, 
For baching was an art he'd mastered well, 
And how the nails helped out a lot with buttons 
off and gone, 
"Or locust thorns sometimes would do as well;" 
And when a lively yarn was told the boys would 
gather 'round 
A little keg that sat against the wall, 
And turn the spigot slightly and pass the cup 
around, 
The memories of old times to recall. 



134 



Yes, there Was "booze" in Johnson's keg and 
money too for him, 
And the reservation Indians also knew, 
And when they too "mixed in" to smoke, the 
candle light grew dim, 
And then they surely had a motley crew. 
Sometimes the hotel cleared its floor and gave 
the boys a dance, 
And then this keg of Johnson's took a hand, 
And e'er th' boys attending spent th' "wee sma' 
hours," perchance 
A part of those connecting couldn't stand. 

The booze is gone, an outlaw now — for this no 
tears are shed — 
But many things we've lost that are no gain: 
The stronger ties of friendship in the early days, 
that led 
A pioneer for miles through snow or rain 
To help a needy brother when the fever threatened 
life, 
Or help him save the meager crops he had, 
For hearts grew strong and brave and true 'mid 
poverty and strife 
And the good things ever crowded out the bad. 



135 



MY HEART GROWS YOUNG AGAIN 

When the lark's sweet song in the Spring I hear 

My heart grows young again; 
When the sweet buds burst that I love so dear, 

My heart grows young again; 
When the sweet sunlight searches everywhere 
And the cobwebs fly in the balmy air, 
How they drive away all the gloom and despair, 

For my heart grows young again. 

When the brooklet flows with a merry song, 

My heart grows young again; 
Over the rocks as it glides along 

My heart grows young again; 
When the bobwhite whistles his glad delight 
In the wooded glen from morn till night, 
How the tangled thoughts of my mind get right, 

For my heart grows young again. 

When the old plowshare turns the mellow ground, 

My heart grows young again; 
When the click of the planters again resound, 

My heart grows young again; 
For they lift me up from my daily care, 
And my eyes see the sunlight everywhere 
And my soul is closed to gloom and despair, 

For my heart grows young again. 



136 



AUTUMN 

Turning to gold are the leaves, 
Autumn, sad Autumn is here, 
Over the scene my heart grieves, 
For we have lost summer's cheer. 
Rustling and eddying down, 
Filling the hollows below, 
Leaves that gave summer renown 
Now to their wintry beds go. 

Sad and alone now, I tread 

Paths that in June were deep bowers, 

Looking in vain for the red 

And the pink of the beautiful flowers, 

List'ning in vain for the song 

Of the thrush and the dear whip-poor-will. 

Flown is the joyous gay throng, 

Flown, and the woodlands are still. 

Over the river so still 
The eddying gusts slowly stray, 
Once summer's breath — now a chill 
Comes with their passing today, 
And though the sun's rays now kiss 
The beds of the flowers so dear, 
Summer, sweet summer we miss, 
Autumn, sad Autumn is here. 

So is the Autumn of life; 

Flowers are dead that once bloomed, 

Hopes in our hearts that were rife, 

Now by the years are entombed. 

And o'er the pathway of years, 

Guided by memory's tread, 

We wander again in our tears, 

'Tis Autumn — Sweet Summer is dead, 

137 



I LOVE YOU 

"I love you," this was whispered low today. 

What magic words ! They showed a soul the way. 

His eyes looked up, and lo! the sun was out 

And he could see the way, before in doubt. 

"I love you," whispered low, a charm, a thrill 

To old or young — their lives with music fill. 

It makes a burden but a joy to bear, 

It gives fleet wings to ruthless, dark despair. 

"I love you, "oh, how sweet the words do sound. 
At night they hang sweet clustered dreams around, 
And mind and body drift to quiet rest, 
Because of all who live none more are blest. 
"I love you," yes, old hearts again grow young 
That many years the gossips may have stung, 
And eyes grow bright, ambition fires once more. 
For we must live for those whom we adore. 

"I love you. " It is as the sun to earth 
Whose warm rays start the buds of tender birth, 
For darkness cannot dwell where soft sunlight 
Peers into silent nooks, but takes its flight. 
Then speak it to the young and to the old 
Before the clay now living turns to mold, 
For smiles will come and cares flit from the brow 
Whene'er you whisper that you love them now. 



138 






THE OLD HOTEL AT SPRING HILL, 

KANSAS. 

Over the prairies for miles and miles, 

Slowly the stage coach rolled along, 
With now and then the crack of a whip, 

And a "Get up there" or a bit of a song. 
The bluestem waved and the flowers wild 

Nodded and becked as the stage went by 
(In the soft June days) and when autumn came 

The fires of the prairie lit up the sky, 
And after the ride was a rest for a spell, 

For the passengers here at the old hotel. 

'Twas a welcome sight to the traveler worn, 

The light that flecked from the windows here, 
And far in the night were the slow teams urged, 

That the drivers might bask in its warmth 
and cheer, 
For equality reigned at the old hotel, 

Where the traveler told of his wanderings far, 
Of his hopes and ambitions, of what he had 
been, 

Of all that had happened his fortune to mar; 
And the innkeeper listened to what had befell, 

Till the clock struck twelve in the old hotel. 

'Twas here Greeley came by the old stage line, 

And stopped awhile for a welcome rest, 
And saw for the first the prairies so wide, 

That inspired his advice, "Young man, go 
West." 
But the trail now bears the name of a street; 

By the hotel's walls move a city's throng, 
And the corn and wheat now nod and bend 

On the sod where the bluestem waved so 
long; 

139 



But the hotel stands, yet through its door, 
The guests from the stage coach come no 
more. 

Like a granite slab 'mong the tangled vines 

That bursts to view in a lonely wood, 
(Where once in the long, long years ago 

A party of silent mourners stood), 
Brings back to the mind the years that have 
flown, 

The years that have flown, yes, by the score. 
So the old hotel, with its sinking sills, 

Calls back to the pioneer days of yore, 
A slab in the woods with but few to tell 

Of its history now — is this old hotel. 



140 



BROTHER EBENEZER VISITS KANSAS 

Brother Ebenezer's here — he's just arrived from 

Maine, 
He alius thought that Kansas was a sort o' dreary 
plain, 
A sorter dried up blistered crust that crackled 

'neath the feet 
And where a rainfall was so rare it turned to 
steam from heat. 
I alius tried to tell him that we wasn't far 

behind, 
But he was born a doubter, but admits now 
he was blind. 

The night 'fore Eben got here it began to rain a 

bit, 
'N' then it rained still harder till we thought 
'twould never quit, 
'N' half the town was covered when I met him 

at the train, 
But then I told the fellers not to speak about the 
rain. 
"By geewhillikens ! " said Eben, "it's been 

rainin' " — ■ "Yes," says I, 
"We have had a little shower 'n' we'll have 
more by 'n' by. " 

"Mighty savin' by sich weather," said I as 

a stack 6' wheat 
Came afloatin' down the river 'n' then lodged right 
in the street. 
"Railroad freights hevbeen raised on us higher 

than they should hev been, 
So when we can catch a freshet we jes' float 
the stuff right in." 



141 



Well, we took a skiff 'n' floated out to where the 

carriage stood, 
'N' I got the wraps'n' rubbers an* I tucked him in 
right good: 
Then I took the lines 'n' started through the 

water to the bridge 
That with ropes was bein' anchored to the trees 
along the ridge. 
Brother Eben sat there silent till we crossed 

'n' reached the bluff 
'N' I felt that the surroundin's was a talkin' 
quite enough. 

Eben's face was just a wonder, and the cornfields 

seemed to vex, 
For the long ears 'twixt the corn rows crossed 
just like the letter X ; 
All the fields had on their fixin's 'n' the sun- 
flowers by the fence 
Seemed to say to me 'n' Eben, "Say, ain't 
Kansas just immense ?" 

Eben's been here for a fortnight 'n' he brought his 

trunk 'n' grips 
'N we wonder what he carries in them when he 
makes his trips; 
Said he'd bring a lot o' samples of the stuff they 

raise in Maine, 
But we'll not ask him to show 'em, fer we would- 
n't cause him pain. 

We've been worryin' some lately 'bout my Brother 

Eben's way, 
Fer he's sich an honest feller that he tells the truth 
each day, 
'N' we fear his church relations will be given 

quite a strain 
When my Brother Eben tells 'em of the Kansas 
crops in Maine. 

142 



r— r~- 




tj, RjtfJBoHfTT* 



FOB THE LONG EAHS TWIXT THE CORN BOWS CROSSED 
JUST LIKE THE LETTEB X. 



THE HOME OF YESTERDAY 

O, pioneer of Kansas, 

A song I sing of thee. 

Whose stand for freedom ended 

The curse of slavery. 

Who settled where the bluestem, 

Like deep seas rolled away, 

And raised above the billows 

The home of yesterday. 

The home of yesterday — a speck 
Upon the prairie wild, 
A little house of rough-hewn logs 
To shelter wife and child. 
Inside the weekly paper hid 
Its rough uneven wall. 
A rifle o'er the door for use 
If danger should befall. 

The home of yesterday was free 

To all who ope'd its door, 

And 'round its fireplace strangers made 

Their beds upon the floor. 

And welcome thrice the wanderer 

Who in the darkening night, 

For miles had kept his face toward 

It's lonely beacon light. 

How fast the years have numbered 
Since first the log house came, 
The prairies of the 50's 
No longer look the same. 
Now cities screened by treetops 
Are scattered here and there, 
Where then the prairie flowers cast 
Their fragrance on the air. 

145 



O, cabins of the 50's 

How few remain today; 

And these as barns or corn-cribs 

Are crumbling to decay. 

Their builders, too, are falling, 

For frosts of many years 

Have changed to gray the locks of these, 

Our early pioneers. 

Undying fame and glory 

To him who wore the blue, 

The soldier of the 60's 

Who proved himself so true. 

His noble deeds of valor 

All patriots revere 

And Justice by his side will place, 

The Kansas Pioneer. 



146 






WHERE QUIET REIGNS 

Oh, peaceful farm where May's sweet sunlight 
pours 

And where the fragrant apple blossoms call 
The busy bee to carry off its stores, 

How dear to me thy priceless treasures all. 

For I was there when young, a barefoot boy, 
And learned to know and love each restful spot, 

Each tree and vine and flower, and each nook 
Where cool soft breezes stirred when it was hot. 

Along the river banks I strolled, where vines 
Embroidered leaves of green and flowers sweet, 

And waded in the ripples by the ford 
To cool again my hot and tired feet. 

Oh, peaceful farm where May's sweet sunbeams 
pour 

That teaches to the child Dame Nature's truth, 
I love thy quiet, for each fragrant bud 

Calls back to mind the happy days of youth. 



147 



BOB DUNN'S REST 

Bob Dunn left the farm, 

For it worried him there; 
There was too much of choring to do, 

The caring for stock was too much for his 
strength; 
It seemed that he never was through. 

So he sold off the stuff on the farm to the last, 
And bought a nice dwelling in town, 

Then put up a building and started in biz, 
And a smile took the place of his frown. 

He knew he was "it," for they all told him so, 

His stuff and his prices were right; 
The rest of the fellows in business there 

Were the worst kind of frauds — 'twas a fright; 
They gave underweight, and they swindled in 
change, 

They sold rotten eggs by the score, 
Their butter was strong, and their lard cottolene, 

And they wouldn't trade there any more! 

Would he charge till next week? 

Yes, the others all did; 
Just a dollar or two for today; 

The money would come sure on Saturday night, 
And then he would sure get his pay, 

So he let Easy Jake have a new pair of shoes, 
Billy Graft some tobacco and flour, 

And suave Mrs. Rue a new dress and some hose; 
Yes, he was the man of the hour. 



148 



Scaly Jim just arrived as the bank doors were 
closed, 

Didn't know what his balance was there; 
He would like a "few things" till he came in again, 

And then his account he would square. 
And he got 'em, of course, though the few things 
he got 

Amounted to almost a twenty, 
For he 'lowed as he had the big wagon in town 

He "might just as well take a plenty. " 

Skinny Jones said, "By Gosh" that he never be- 
lieved 

"In the practice of going in debt;" 
It was a bad thing for to run on account; 

He never had done the thing yet, 
But his wife needed shoes, and the flour was most 
out, 

And though he had vowed he would not, 
He'd buy 'em on time till the first of the week, 

And then he'd be round with the "spot." 

And so things went on till the pay days came 
round; 

What a sad disappointment came then! 
The fellow that owed Easy Jake didn't pay, 

And he needed a "few things" again, 
Billy Graft didn't draw the few dollars he made — 

His employer was gone out of town, 
And suave Mrs. Rue paid a dollar, and then 

Got another two dollars chalked down. 



149 



Scaly Jim got a plenty the first time he came, 

Anyway he forgot to come back; 
And Skinny Jones' cow took the colic and died 

Not a yard from the railroad track. 
But promises fair and the beckons of hope 

Kept Dunn there still grinding away, 
Till his stock had run down and his credit in doubt, 

And the bills were too heavy to pay. 

But Dunn settled all, for he wasn't like those 

Who had carried the stuff from his store, 
And still had his farm, for it didn't take that, 

And he felt mighty thankful, though sore. 
And now on the farm he is "resting" today, 

For he's choring from early to late; 
No duns to receive and no bills to collect, 

He's the happiest man in the state. 



150 



GOIN' SOME 



a 



The fastest ride I ever rid," 

Said Windy, as he blew 

A puff of smoke and crossed his legs, 

"Was back in '82. 

The train broke at the summit 

Of the mountains as we crossed 

And started back with me 'n' Bill, 

We tho't we sure were lost. 

The brakes wuz useless, wouldn't work 

'N' so we set right there 

'N' watched our car go thirty miles 

Like sailin' in the air. 

Jes' fifty sec'ons by the watch 

To make that thirty mile 

'Twas goin' some I reckon 

Well, yes — sir, I should smile." 

Then Old man Kareful pulled his beard 

And switched his chew about 

Until he got it fastened so 

It wouldn't work quite out, 

And said — "Do you remember when 

They blasted on that road, 

They had to move some mountains 

Blastin' by a signal code; 

A whole train load of dynamite 

Was planted there that day, 

'N' everything in readiness 

To shoot 'n' get away. 

My dog 'n' I wuz chasin' bear 

'N' so I run acrost 

A nigher cut to head 'em off, 

(They sure tho't I wuz lost), 

That dynamite exploded and 



151 



It knocked me up so high 

There wuzn't ary bit 'o air, 

I sure tho't I would die. 

A great big boulder went along 

'N' I reached fer it quick, 

'N' crawled into a hollow place 

A feelin' awful sick. 

We started back, that rock 'n' I, 

(Now fellers you may laugh) 

We made the last ten miles in jes' 

Two sec'ons 'n' a half.'' 

Then old man Coffer twisted on 

His nail keg fer a bit, 

And coughed a time or two and hemmed 

And cleared his throat to spit, 

Then took his glasses off and said, 

"Yer thruthful men, By Jax, 

'N' what you've told me here today 

I ain't no doubt are fax. 

Once when I was a boy one day, 

Some ninety years ago, 

A comet came a sailin' by 

'N* blinded me like snow. 

I grabbed holt of its skirt 'n' swung 

Away off into space, 

Not thinkin' fer a moment 

How a comet likes to race. 

Well sir, By Jings, fer sixty years 

*N' fifteen more, I swear 

I clung to that durn comet 

As it darted thru' the air. 

We shot by stars 'n' planets 

With no station at the side, 

'N' jes' kep' on a goin' 

With the throttle open wide, 



152 



'N' tother day the earth came close 

'N' I let loose my holt 

'N' came a slidin' down the tail 

With scarcely any jolt, 

'N' talkin' now of 'goin' some* 

By dynamite or cars 

We went two million miles a day, 

A duckin* 'mong the stars. 

Two million miles — 'twas 'goin' some. 

Then Coffer looked around 

But neither Windy or his pard 

Could anywhere be found. 



153 



ITS RAINING OUT IN KANSAS 

It's raining out in Kansas 

Where it was so hot a while, 
It's raining, yes it's raining, 

And we're wearing that old smile. 
The pools are filled with water 

And the ground is soaked and wet, 
And the weather cool, not hotter, 

And we've most forgot to fret. 

It's raining out in Kansas 

On the farms and down the creeks, 
And the stock that needed water 

Now no longer vainly seeks. 
And the plows are in the stubble 

Where the wheat so grandly grew, 
And the springs now freshly bubble 

With the water that is new. 

It's raining out in Kansas, 

What a joy to those who toil; 
For bread and meat for millions 

Must come from Kansas soil. 
And the seedbeds must be ready 

Or the reapers cannot glean. 
It's raining out in Kansas 

And again we are serene. 

It's raining out in Kansas, 

What a joy its patter makes 
For the rain will stop the chatter 

Of the liars and the fakes. 
And the wheat will soon be growing 

In the green fields as of yore. 
It's raining out in Kansas 

And Good Lord — just let it pour! 

154 



THE PLANTING OF THE COTTONWOOD 

TREE 

The building of the cabin home, 

The planting of the trees, 
The breaking of the virgin soil — 

What tender memories ! 
What stories, told of other days, 

Come drifting back to me, 
I think this one the best of all, 

The planting of this tree. 

A little sprout she carried there 

When first the home was bought, 
For mother said " a treeless home 

Was such a lonely spot." 
And by the door where summer's breeze 

Would tune its leaves to song 
She planted it and nourished till 

Its roots grew firm and strong. 

Dear cottonwood, so lovely then, 

How wide and tall it grew. 
What joy to those long absent when 

Its top first came to view! 
A sentinel it seemed to be 

That stood majestic there, 
And guarded those who dwelt within 

That dear old home so fair. 

'Twas mother's tree! And it has stood 

For thirty years or more, 
Where loving hands had planted it 

Beside that cottage door. 
The song-birds came and nested there, 

And 'neath its cooling shade, 
The boys and girls that blessed the home 

Their first playhouses made. 
155 



Here where the roaming buffaloes 

Were chased by Indian bands — 
"The treeless desert of the plains" — 

The shaded home now stands. 
The shaded homes, the homes with trees 

On every plain appear — 
'Twas mother's love, 'twas mother's care 

That gave and made them dear. 



156 



SNAPS 

"I wish I could sell my farm," said he, 
As he stretched himself 'neath an elm tree 
To let the horses panting from heat 
Breathe for a while in this cool retreat; 
"It's too hard work, and there's too much to do, 
And I work, work, work, yet never am through. 
There's Merchant Brown — what a snap has he 
These long hot days; from care he is free. 
He rises at six and goes to the store, 
And there reads the morning papers o'er; 
No tiresome chores when the day is spent — 
A merchant's life is but sweet content." 

And Merchant Brown as he went to the store 
Took down his big ledger and looked it o'er, 
And turning to Billy Slowpay's account 
He carefully added the whole amount; 
"An even fifty," he grimly said, 
And marked it "Paid;" for Billy was dead. 

And Jim Softsoap and Promisin' Joe, 

And a dozen others he put in a row, 

And said to himself, " What a chump, I've been 

To let these fellows ever get in! 

And what would I give to leave today, 

And hie to the farm for a good long stay!" 

Then he thought of the fruit on the apple tree, 
The peaches and plums that used to be; 
The melons fine and the garden green, 
The wild grapes down in the old ravine, 
And the thick sweet cream that he used to skim 
To eat with the berries they saved for him. 



157 



And his head bent low on his weary arm, 

As he sighed for the days on the good old farm ; 

Yes, wished he was there, for the thoughts that 

stirred 
Brought forth only flowers and songs of bird, 
And sunshiny days — one long sweet rest, 
For the farmer's life of all was blest. 

How strange it all is, and yet can it be 
Our road is all rocks and the others free? 
Is life to the cheerful just what it may seem, 
Or is the big snap that we see but a dream? 



CHEERFUL SONGS FROM CHEERFUL 

HEARTS 

Give me the hearts that love to sing, 
Proof from envy's jealous sting. 
Give me the hearts like those of youth, 
Hearts that speak the words of truth, 
Hearts that sing a song each day, 
Telling of the better way. 

Sweetest hearts that ever sung, 
Oft have been with malice stung; 
Oft have had some joyous peal, 
Quickly chilled by hearts of steel. 
But the sunshine stored away, 
Burst again to brighter day. 

Cheerful songs from cheerful hearts, 
Oh! what joy their music starts, 
Scattering clouds that oft would stay, 
Driving dark despair away. 
Sweetest gift that heaven imparts, 
Cheerful songs from cheerful hearts. 

158 



WHEN MY CORK GOES OUT O' SIGHT 

GettiIl , old? Well, yes, a bit, 
But I still hev' got the grit 
When the birds begin to sing 
In the early days o' spring 
Fer to mosey down the crick, 
With a swing just fairly quick 
Fer an old man; an' to stay 
On the bank the livelong day. 
Thankful fer these days so bright — 
When my cork goes out o' sight. 

Old in years though I may be, 
Yet the spring my heart sets free, 

Makes me but a boy again, 

Jes' a little boy o' ten, 
Makes me long to start once more 
Down the crick as in days of yore; 

And this longing fills my heart 

Till I get my pole an' start 
Down the crick, a boy again, 
Jes' a little boy o' ten. 

Seems as natural as sin 
Fer some fellers to begin 

Workin', when the noisy bird 

In the tree top first is heard; 
Jes' as natural fer me 
Fer to sit beneath that tree, 

With my fishin' pole 'n' line, 

'N' a feelin' most divine, 
Watchin', waitin' with delight 
'Till my cork goes out o' sight. 



159 



When my cork goes out o' sight, 
Say, you bet I'm livin' right; 
For there's something of a treat, 
(In the line of things to eat), 
Comes to me in early spring, 
When the birds are on the wing, 
And contentment rich 'n' rare 
Fills my heart while sittin' there. 
Fer sweet joy and pure delight 
Let my cork go out o' sight! 



160 



THANKSGIVING 

When comes Thanksgiving weather, 

With snow, and frost, and sleet, 
And old friends meet together 

To spend the hours so sweet, 
Forget not those in sorrow, 

The few who may not see 
The beauties of Thanksgiving, 

If it were not for thee. 

A word of cheer to some one, 

Food for the hungry poor, 
A message to the sick one, 

Almost forgot before. 
These little things so easy, 

Mixed in with Life's alloy, 
Will cause the tears to trickle, 

But 'twill be tears of joy. 



161 



WHEN IT GETS WET IN KANSAS 
Companion piece to when "It Gets Dry in Kansas." 

When it gets wet in Kansas, 

What awful times we have: 
There's no balm for our feelin's, 

No antidote, or salve. 
We pray for sun tomorrow, 

We hope the rain is done, 
And then tomorrow mornin' 

We find it's jes' begun. 

When it gets wet in Kansas, 

The clouds jes' tumble down; 
They drown the drouthy croakers 

'N' sweep each river town, 
'N' sidewalks, barns 'n' bridges 

'N' trees and houses go, 
Bound for the Mississippi, 

All stringin' in a row. 

The catfish plow the cornfields, 

The ducks roost on the barn, 
'N' farmers on the prairies 

(This ain't no Kansas yarn) 
They tie their calves 'n' chickens 

'N' pigs 'n' colts in twos, 
'N' spike 'em to the housetops 

To keep 'em from the "dews." 

Some fellers try to plow then, 

But then it ain't no use, 
Fer every one that tries it 

Jes' proves himself a goose. 
Fer scratches turn to gullies, 

'N' gullies turn to cricks — 
When it gets wet in Kansas 

It plays all kinds o' tricks. 
162 



So when the corks o' heaven 

Are all pulled out — jes' wait 
'N' quit prognosticate' 

'N' git resigned to fate: 
Per pious prayers er cussin* 

Will never lift the cup. 
When it gets wet in Kansas 

It's bound to soak things up. 



163 



THE OLD ROLLER TOWEL 

The Kansas State Board of Health will not permit 
the use of roller towels. 

How sad to our hearts was the old roller towel, 

That hung on the walls at the hotel each day. 
A place for the grime and the sweat of our bread 
hooks, 
It furnished for all who were passing that way. 
It held all the suds of the hasty in washing, 

It showed that the blacksmith was boarding 
there yet 
And we rolled it around and around in our efforts 
To get at a place not all covered with sweat. 
The old roller towel, 
The dirty old towel, 
The old greasy towel 
All covered with sweat. 

How often at noon as we came for our rations, 
We grabbed and we tugged at this rag on the 
wall; 
Some hands that were clean and some more that 
were never, 
Yet all of the hungry ones gave it a call. 
Yes, sad to our hearts was this old dirty towel, 
But now it has joined those who cannot come 
back. 
The black on its linen has proved its undoing, 
Like him the once hero, our old Jeffries Jack. 
So farewell old towel, 
You old roller towel, 
You dirty old towel, 
That cannot come back. 



164 



Said Old Joe Gasser, as he spat behind the 
stove upon the mat, and freshened with another 
chew: "I'll tell you what I'm bound to do. From 
this day on I'll live as if I floated in an oarless skiff, 
nor turn my hand to get an oar, no matter if I go 
a shore. I've blistered all my fingers now, and 
wrinkles deep are in my brow because of trials that 
I've met a tryin' to some wealth beget. If I plant 
corn, the winds so hot will come a sizzling to the 
spot, or else the rains pour down each day and 
floods wash everything away. I bought an incuba- 
tor once that proved I was a silly dunce. The 
lamps went out for lack of oil, and caused them 
settin' eggs to spoil; and when I tried the second 
batch, it cooked 'em so they wouldn't hatch. No 
more for me. " Then down he sat, and spat, and 
spat and spat and spat. 



165 



BOOZE IS ON THE BUM 

I saw a railroad ho-bo 

At the crossing here one day, 
A sad eyed, weary fellow, 

Upon the ground he lay. 
A scarecrow lid lay by him, 

And an old tomato can, 
And as a loaded freight went by 

Each car he seemed to scan. 

A car of coal from Midway, 

And then a car of hams; 
A car of sheep from Parsons 

And another filled with lambs; 
And then a mammoth car of grain 

And full a dozen more 
Were loaded with the products 

Of the factory and store. 

At last among the number, 

A yellow car went by 
From far away Milwaukee, 

And it caught the ho-bo's eye, 
And rising up he pointed 

And said, "Look there, By Gum! 
There's only one in that whole train, 

Old Booze is on the bum. " 

I've been around for many springs 

And summers in this State, 
I've seen the Booze win for awhile 

Then meet its certain fate. 
I've seen the officers side-step 

And dodge and haw and hum, 
But when the people got a whack, 

Old Booze went on the bum. 

166 



I'm not a prophet now but then, 

I used to prophesy, 
I said it was impossible 

To make some places dry. 
But now the jointists are in jail, 

Bootleggers feelin' glum, 
Fer when the people get a show, 

They put Booze on the bum. 

It's on the bum in many states, 

'Nd most o' folks don't care, 
Although the profit sharin' ones 

Are tearing out their hair. 
But then the writin's on the wall 

And though it strikes 'em dumb, 
Like me they've got to work or move, 

Fer Booze is on the bum. 



167 



THE TRICKLING TEAR 

One day a little tear came trickling down 
O'er her fair cheek where only smiles had played, 
And when he saw it there his heart grew still 
And sad, for all his joys then seemed to fade. 
"What was it, Love," he said, "that brought the 

tear, 
A sweet, sad tear to eyes that only knew 
Sweet merriment and joy and laughter's ways; 
Was it because some friend has proved untrue?" 
And then he pressed her close and kissed again 
Her lily cheeks, yes, kissed them o'er and o'er, 
And begged that she might pour into his ear 
The story sad, so sad, her dear heart bore. 

Her eyes looked up to his with old time love 
And o'er her face a smile began to play, 
The tear came trickling down — "Because sweet- 
heart 
It was so sweet to have it kissed away." 



1G8 



THE TRAVELING MAN'S DREAM 

'Twas an unlucky day for the traveling man, 

But at last his work was o'er; 
And the jaded team from a twenty-mile drive, 

Was stopped at the hotel door. 
A dim light shone from the frosty glass; 

What a welcome sight to him 
Who had faced the snow and the sleet for miles, 

And was chilled through every limb. 
But soon by the fire that was nice and warm, 

This traveling man forgot the storm. 

He dozed — and a new world came to him; 

He was traveling now no more. 
In the office chair in a distant town 

He sat, and he owned the store. 
No more would he meet the icy glare 

Of the man who would not give 
A moment off from the busy desk 

That a traveling man might live. 
"I'm the buyer now, and I hope," said he, 

" The drummers are merchants I've been to see." 

"Is the buyer in?" said a deep bass voice 

To a clerk down by the door. 
And the merchant turned his head with joy, 

For he'd heard the voice before. 
It was Mr. Grunt of Backwardville, 

And he sold cigars and gum. 
He once had owned a big store there, 

But now he was on the bum. 
And the buyer looked with an icy stare 

At the man who dared to approach him there. 



169 



"Are you the buyer — I represent — " 

"Sir, this is my busy day. 
And I have cigars and chewing gum 

In stacks just piled away." 
And he turned to his work and the drummer knew 

That the interview was o'er 
And th'3 clerks all smiled sarcastically 

As he made for the open door. 
" 'Twas a darn mean trick," said he, "but then 
That's the way he treated the traveling men." 

"Are you the buyer?" ('Twas a squeaky voice, 

But a voice that he knew quite well.) 
"I would like to have just a moment's time, 

I've an elegant line to sell. 
I represent Blot Bros. & Scratch, 

Fine envelopes, paper and ink. 
If you have the time I can show them here 

'Twill take but a moment, I think. " 
"All right," said the buyer, "Display them right 
there. 

I guess I will have a few moments to spare. " 

Then the drummer spread out all the samples he 
had, 
And the buyer stood placidly by. 
And listened to prices from first to the last 

And viewed with a sinister eye. 
Some things were too high and others too poor, 

Not a thing in the entire array 
Of samples displayed found the last word of 
praise 
And that drummer pulled out in dismay. 
And the buyer again sat down in his seat 

And smiled as he said: "Oh, Revenge, thou art 
sweet. " 



170 



Then Snarler from Growlville, Kicker from Knox, 

And Tightwad from Pinchville came in. 
And the way that the buyer reached posies to them 

To some folks would seem but a sin. 
But the buyer did only what they always did 

To the man with broad mind and big heart, 
And before they had told what their business was 

They knew it was time to depart. 
And just as they filed one by one through the door, 

Said a voice at his elbow, "I've seen you be- 
fore." 

"John Summers! Why, John, how are you, old 
boy? 

Come into the office — sit down; 
Let me give you a hug and a handshake, old boy. 

You never knew, John, how to frown. 
What! Traveling now — and selling hardware? 

I'm glad that you are, Johnny, boy, 
I'm needing a lot — you and Jim just look through 

And an order we'll give you with joy, 
Here, Jim, take your time and go carefully 
through. 

And buy twice as much as we usually do. 

' What a pleasure it is to reciprocate now, 

And I think that I know how to do it. 
Some fellows that come will have cause to rejoice — 

And maybe some others will rue it." 
" Wake up, here, old man ! Been sleeping, I guess; 

It's time to go up to your bed. " 
And the buyer awoke, for his pipe had gone out, 

But he turned to the clerk and he said: 
"Don't bother me, please! No bed clean and 
white, 
Can give half the pleasure this chair has to- 
night." 

171 



TO THE SOROSIS CLUB 

Of Spring Hill 

Be merciful today and don't forget 

That I, alas, alack! am living yet. 

But then I'd rather be still in Life's Ring 

With but a few at times my praise to sing, 

Than be a Burns, a Byron or a Poe 

Who passed from life a hundred years ago. 

Be kind today — and if perchance you see 
Some happy thought expressed in rhyme by me, 
Sing loud my praise and say the Sunflower State 
At last has found for Ware a running mate, 
("But if the sense and rhythm should be terrors 
Please charge it up to typographic errors.") 

Be sweet today, and only look for those 
Sweet flowers like the asters or the rose, 
Refusing e'en to see a burr or thorn 
That here and there some paragraphs adorn. 
But criticise — nor deal in broken doses — 
Yet be my steadfast friend, oh, Dear Sorosis. 



172 



THE LILACS MOTHER PLANTED 

I listened by the doorstep as the evening shadows 

fell, 
While from the distance floated the faint tinklings 

of a bell, 
The night hawk circled overhead then dropped 

straight down below, 
The same as when I first lived there, in childhood, 

long ago. 
The trees have grown much taller in the yard 

where once I played, 
And now looked so majestic in their summer robes 

arrayed; 
And near the walk the lilacs flung their fragrance 

to the air 
The lilacs that my darling mother planted for us 

there. 

Ah, yes, what tender memories are forced on us 

again, 
Who leave our home in boyhood days and then 

return grown men; 
To seek again the playgrounds which in youth 

we loved so well, 
The shade beneath the apple tree, the old pump 

at the well, 
The woodpile, and the cellar door, the dear old 

blacksmith shop, 
The granary that held the corn with martin box 

on top. 
But dearer than the playgrounds was the perfume 

in the air, 
From those dear lilac bushes that my mother 

planted there. 



173 



Oh, sweet and fragrant lilac, the one she loved so 

well, 
Thy fragrance brings to memory sad thoughts I 

cannot tell; 
Sweet lullabies of childhood sung at the evening 

rest, 
By mother clasping closely the one she loved the 

best. 
A voice that gently whispered sweet words of 

love to me, 
A face so kind and gentle, a heart with love so free; 
Still yet my heart throbs feel them, still yet I see 

them there, 
When lilacs that she planted with fragrance fill 

the air. 



174 



THE PIONEERS' ANNIVERSARY 

The years are passing, Nancy, 

Yes, the years are passing fast, 
The year just gone it seems to me 

Went quicker than the last. 
Our heads are tingeing now with gray, 

Our steps not quite so sure, 
But then I'm not complaining, Dear, 

For blessings still endure. 
We'll have the children here again, 

Yes, all of them today 
Except the little one, once ours, 

Once ours, now passed away. 

How fast the years are flying now 

What changes swift they bring 
Sweet joy to some, to others pain, 

Worse than the adder's sting. 
Ah! well for us, yes, well, indeed, 

We cannot know today, 
The joys or griefs that future days 

Have for us stored away. 
An angel hand may guide us yet, 

For years before we part, 
The hands of friends be needed soon 

To bind a broken heart. 



175 



on g has been the road, dear wife, 

Yet swift the time has flown, 
Our babies' stay with us so short, 

Now all of them are grown. 
But Home Sweet Home still calls them back 

From distant climes away, 
And round our bounteous table here 

We'll have them all today. 
Yes, have them all. Yes, all, but one 

Whose little chair still stays. 
In its accustomed place for her, 

Our pride of other days. 

We're growing old, yes, growing old, 

I feel it every day, 
The work that worries now so much, 

Would once have been but play. 
The yard, the fence, the shrubs, the trees, 

And buildings call to me 
For work, yes, work I cannot do 

If I would e'er be free, 
And so I've closed my eyes to them, 

To let them only rest, 
Upon the flowers by the roads 

I love to ramble best. 
Andfwhen the children come today 

I trust they still can say, 
Though the old home is snowing age 

Our hearts are young and gay. 



176 



EASY IKE'S AMBITION 

I'd like to dig a cave right in 

The south side of a hill, 
Away off down in Arkansaw 

'N' live to suit my will. 
'N' hev a barrel of salt in there, 

'N' forty sacks o' meal, 
'N' with good fishin' in the crick 

I'd feel that life was real. 

I ain't no "strenuous cuss" 'n* I'll 

Acknowledge it by jing, 
This hustlin' out at early morn 

Fer me ain't jes' the thing, — 
For wot's the use when all we git 

Is jes' what we kin eat 
'N' mighty little cloze, 'n' then 

Must hustle for the heat. 

I hev to leave my bed at morn 

'N' hike 'n' hour too quick 
'N' work 'n' work, while all the time 

My heart's down at the crick. 
But strange to see, some hunt fer work 

'N' waste their time a-wishin 
To get a job, when they might be 

Down at the crick a-fishin\ 

When I git rich so I kin buy 

That barrel o' salt and meal 
They won't find me a-foolin' here 

Though they may hunt a deal, 
But where the cork starts slowly off 

'N' then dips out o' sight, 
They'll find me settin' with a pole 

From mornin' until night. 

177 



CARE FREE 

No ! I'm not going to the church today, 
I think I'll stretch myself upon the grass 
And hear the meadow lark sing its sweet lay, 
And watch the snow white clouds that slowly 

pass. 
I'm hungry for the songs that Nature sings 
When grass is green and foliage is deep, 
And birdlings in the branches rock and swing, 
And everything invites a restful sleep. 
Away the cares. And come sweet dreams to me. 
I've reached the goal that man so long has sought, 
A glimpse of Heaven and a heart care free 
I've found here in this quiet homelike spot. 



J 78 



OUR HIRED GIRL 

Say, she's a tartar — that there girl 

Wot works for pa 'n' ma, 
'N' makes 'em both be meek 'n' mild 

'N' brings me right to taw. 
We got her fer to help us out, 

She's doin' it, you bet; 
We'd like to fire her, but don't know 

Jes' how to do it yet. 

She's most the sociableest thing 

Thet our folks ever found, 
Her cranin' neck 'n' coyote ears 

Are always stickin' 'round. 
It ain't no use to whisper 

Any secrets in the hall, 
Er even in the smokehouse, 

'Cause her ears '11 ketch 'em all. 

Sometimes my ma's hystericky, 

'N' wants someone to jaw, 
'N' when she's so inclined she rests 

Herself by jawin' pa. 
Pa he don't care much fer it, 

'Cause he knows it's got to come, 
'N' while she's layin' down the law 

He jes' keeps sorter mum. 

Well, t'other day the horses throwed 

Some mud upon pa's shirt, 
'N' then, when he come in the house, 

He carried in some dirt; 
J N' ma was tuned up, anyway, 

'N' she lit into him, 
'N' I hid out fer fear she might 

Conclude to use a lim'. 

179 



But thet hired girl — she stayed right there 

'N' took in ev'ry word; 
'N' when my ma stopped fer a breath 

She told her she hed heard 
The nabers fer 'n' near all say 

" 'Twould improve pa a sight 
If he'd change cloze occasion'ly 

'N' not use soap so light." 

Whew ! thet made ma so hoppin' mad 

She 'most fell on the floor, 
'N' pa he saw thet was his time 

To slip out through the door; 
'N' ma she almost died a wond'rin' 

Who hed told it first, 
But thet girl strutted 'round 'n' said 

She hedn't told the worst. 

Pa wants a office offul bad; 

It keeps him in a fret. 
He's been a candidate ten years, 

But he ain't landed yet. 
But this time he has got a cinch — 

At least, that's wot they say — 
Unless some accident occurs 

To scare his bird away. 

So we're afraid to fire our girl 

At such a time as this, 
For all the town'd hear 'fore night 

Thet somethin' was amiss; 
'N' if thet girl'll let us stay 

We'll not make any stir 
Till pa gits in the council. Then 

Ma says she'll settle her! 



180 



HILLSIDE CAMP IN OCTOBER 

If you wish to make me happy; 

If you wish to hear me shout 
On some fine October morning, 

Tell me you will take me out 
Where the rocky bluffs are standing, 

Like some old and ruined fort, 
For a dinner at Camp Hillside, 

And a day of real sport. 

There the leaves are gently falling, 

Gently falling one by one, 
And from Bull Creek comes the message 

Of some hunter's noisy gun; 
And we gather up the fagots 

'Mong the leaves of brown and gold 
And a camp-fire soon is blazing — 

Blazing as in days of old. 

Days of old when Black Wolf gathered 

Fagots for his camp-fire here; 
When he crouched behind these boulders 

Watching the unwary deer; 
Watching 'til his trusty rifle 

Broke the stillness of 1&e wood 
And an antlered buck sprang upward, 

Then fell dying where he stood. 

Gone— the wild game of the forest; 

Gone — the wigwam from the hill, 
And the trail here once hard-trodden 

By the Indians now is still; 
Yet the camp-fire smoke is curling 

Through the spreading trees today, 
And we 'round the camp-fire gather 

Like the children called from play. 

181 



Called from play to feast and revel, 

And there's missing, nay, not one, 
For potatoes slowly roasting 

In the ashes now are done. 
Go with guns, ye hardened hunters, 

To the slaughter of the fields; 
Or with maddening bay of greyhounds 

Chase the fleet game 'til it yields. 

Go where wealth and splendors dazzle 

To the races — to the games — 
Vie with others, wild, ecstatic, 

'Til your very soul's in flames. 
But for me the quiet woodland 

On this hillside's restful spot; 
Where we rake the camp-fire ashes 

For the spuds — and eat 'em hot. 



182 



CAUGHT IN THE EVERY DAY GRIND 

I am carried away from my day dreams, 

Driven away by the toil, 
Busy, 50 busy, each day seems 

Peacefulness flown for turmoil. 
Softly and gently appealing 

The music of birds and the bees, 
And the notes from the trees, too, are pealing, 

When touched by the soft summer breeze. 
I'm longing and wishing and sighing, 

But pleasures pass swiftly behind, 
And to keep a brave heart I am trying, 

But I'm caught in the every day grind. 
My heart cries in vain for a ramble, 

A ramble through woods and the glen, 
To see the young lambs play and gambol, 

To gather wild flowers again; 
To be where the birds are a-nesting, 

Forgetting while there, cares of mind, 
To dream while my body is resting, 

But I'm caught in the every day grind. 
Oh, somewhere the dear lark is singing, 

Yes, somewhere the fields are so green, 
Oh, somewhere the grape vines are swinging 

With an old rustic seat there between. 
And there the fond days of my childhood 

Again in sweet June calls my mind. 
Oh, for one more day in the wildwood! 

But I'm caught in the every day grind, 

Oh, the every day grind with its driving — ■ 

Its robbing of all that is sweet — ■ 
Its hurrying on — Its depriving — 

Its burdens for head and the feet — 
Its hustle — Its bustle — and wearing — 

Its stifling of hearts' fond desire — 
Oh, brave is the soul though ill faring 

Yet snatches some joy from its fire. 
183 



WHEN LOVE CAME TO MY 
DOORWAY 

When Love came to my doorway 

The roses clustered 'round, 
The birds sang sweeter, sweeter, 

The place seemed hallowed ground, 
The breezes wafted music 

The sweetest ever heard; 
When Love came to my doorway 

How my sluggish heart was stirred. 

When Love came to my doorway 

The sunshine burst anew, 
And the dismal clouds above me 

Gave way to azure blue, 
And the pathways where I wandered 

Were strewn with roses rare; 
When Love came to my doorway 

Life was so sweet and fair. 

When Love came to my doorway 

My listless heart again 
Forgot that there was sorrow, 

Forgot there e'er was pain, 
And like a dream enchanted 

Were all the hours that came, 
For pain and toil and sorrow 

Were melted by its flame. 



184 



MAKE SOMEBODY HAPPY 

Some day when you are feeling blue 
Because there's nothing you can do 
To pass the time away — DonH stew, 

But make somebody happy. 
Shake off the lethargy that holds 
You in its clammy death-like molds 
And only tears of sorrow holds, 

And make somebody happy. 

There's flowers yet, though summer's flown, 
There's happiness that can be shown, 
And when you act 'tis then your own, 

Oh, make somebody happy. 
The mind should see the good in men, 
Should scan each heart for virtues, then 
Give praise, and it will bloom again 

And make somebody happy. 
For happiness reacts and grows 
And spreads sweet sunshine as it goes. 
It is Life's garden's sweetest rose, 

"The making someone happy." 



185 



THE SCANDAL-MONGER 

Don't think that you're an angel 

Just because you're running loose; 
Don't feel swelled up with knowledge 

When folks know you are a goose. 
For better folks are in the jails 

Than some who run about, 
And oftentimes the difference is 

Some haven't been found out. 

Long prayers or longer faces 

Over other people's sin 
Is not a sign of goodness, 

And it doesn't always win; 
Be sure your skirts are clean before 

You cast a single stone, 
And don't condemn in others, sins 

Less weighty than your own. 

The people that are truly good 

Are not the ones who speak 
The words of scandal-mongers: 

But they much prefer to seek 
The many good or better things 

That other people do; 
Then tell them with a glowing heart 

Which proves their friendship true. 

Ah, no! poor scandal-monger, 

You are but a silly goose; 
Your time on earth is wasted, 

Time intended for good use. 
Just keep your linens spotless 

That you wear around each day, 
And then you'll never peddle things 

That other people say. 

186 



ROCKEFELLER'S RESIGNATION AS 
TRUSTEE 

While dodging a subpoena. 

It is with regrets, my Dear Pastor 

That I pen this epistle to you 
Tendering my resignation, 

Bidding my dear friends adieu, 
Friends with whom long I have labored 

Zealously, these many years. 
'Tis needless to say this epistle 

Has caused me much shedding of tears. 

Not that I'm sore on the pastor, 

Or that I'm unwilling to toil 
To light the dark paths of the heathen, 

(Wherever they use Standard Oil,) 
But just at the present I'm staying, 

Well, frankly, I must not say where. 
You know we've oft talked of "the sum- 
mons, " 

I fear one is waiting me there. 

"The days that are past are the sweetest." 

How painfully sad, yet how true. 
The days when there were no subpoenas, 

When all plans I started went through. 
'Twas then that I waxed with fierce vigor 

Against the bad men who would prate. 
Excuse — (I must dodge in the closet, 

A man's coming in at the gate.) 



187 



'Twas only a man from New Jersey; 

No other one here can I trust. 
They've sent him to put up a searchlight, 

For have a searchlight now, I must, 
For we scan all the highways and byways 

For constables, sheriffs and such, 
(I give only church testimony,) 

So I must keep out of their clutch. 

You know that my labors, Dear Pastor, 

Have brought many lambs to the fold, 
Many lambs that were hustling for money ; 

(The root of all evil is gold) 
What a pleasure it was to remove it, 

Forever from these ones away. 
And now they are free from temptation; 

May it ever be thus as today. 

You'll observe that this note is not dated 

And the postofBce too, is obscure. 
'Tis no oversight, I assure you; 

(Your Uncle John wants to be sure) 
The postmark may say "Philadelphia." 

When the clouds lift I'll tell you the rest. 
I'm simply somewhere at the present; 

(Rest assured though, I'm not in the 
West.) 



188 



FORGET IT 

If critics hunt for flaws in you, 

Or friends prove false when you are true. 

Forget it. 
Don't work yourself into a heat 
Because some others have "cold feet" 
And criticise and storm — Be sweet. 

Forget it. 
Let others tell what may not stand 
The calmer thought with truth at hand. 

Forget it. 
You'll live the longer if you let 
The " Nose-arounds " just stew and fret 
Until the cold chills on them set. 

Forget it. 
For some are born with noses long 
For scenting scandal, right or wrong. 

Forget it. 
Be kind, be sweet, nor bend the ear 
To scandal, and you will not hear 
The parrot-talk that starts the tear. 

Forget it. 
Turn not the leaf from yesterday, 
The leaf that's soiled with what "They say. 

Forget it. 
For like a viper in a cage, 
Will Malice, Hate and Envy rage, 
While Love turns o'er a clean new page 

And forgets it. 



189 



THE IMPLEMENT DEALER'S DREAM 

The Implement Dealer sat in his fine chair 

And smole a sweet smile, for he hadn't a care, 
For customers crowded and crowded him there 

To pay off their bills that day. 
And one even offered to pay the express 

Upon a small casting, which, strange to confess, 
Was broken because of his own carelessness, 

And insisted on having his way. 

Another one said that the planter he got 

Was worth twice the price, so he'd pay on the 
spot 
Instead of by note, and he said like as not 

His neighbors would be in soon. 
For his neighbors were there when he started the 
thing, 
And it worked like a charm, and he knew it 
would bring 
"A half dozen sales from that corner, by Jing" — 
Ah me, what a merry old tune! 

"If it isn't too early I'll take up that note," 

Responded a third, as he cleared up his throat; 
"The water was high so I came in a boat 

In order to pay it today. 
For it's mighty poor sleep these short nights I get 

When every evening I think of this debt, 
But for your kind favor I'll never forget — 

That rake is a daisy in hay. " 



190 



And so it went on from morning till night, 

Ere one was through paying another in sight, 
And everyone of them talking just right, 

As good paying customers do. 
And just at the close a fellow in tears 

Squared up an account that was outlawed ten 
years ; 
He'd just been converted, so sold off two steers 

To pay it, with interest too. 

The dealer awoke as he gave him a hug, 

For as he reached out he knocked over a jug 
Of "castor machine" on his new office rug, 

(The gunny sack rug by his chair), 
And a voice from the twilight outside called "Hey, 
Jake, 

That gol durned machine that I bought was a 
fake, 
So I bought of another a different make; 

I unloaded your old trap out there. " 



191 



TABBY GETS THE MOUSE 

We left Tabby Cat in the kitchen one night, 
For a mousie had given my mamma a fright; 
For mamma says mice, 
Are not a bit nice, 
And when they are playing she just can't sleep 
tight. 

I told our Old Tabby a mousie was there, 
In the kitchen or parlor, "we don't know just 
where;" 

And she must be quick, 

And play a cute trick 
On mousie, for we have one mousie to spare. 

And Old Tabby meowed when I put her down, 
'Nd walked stretchin' like against mamma's gown, 

And said right to me, 

As plain as could be, 
"If there is a mousie here it will be foun'." 

Then we went to bed and along in the night, 
We heard a big noise and jumped up with a fright; 

An awful loud clatter! 

Pa said, "What's the matter? 
It sounds like some burglars are havin' a fight." 

Pa turned on the lights and he opened the door, 
And there where we left our Old Tabby before, 

Were dozens of dishes 

All broken. Ma's fishes 
Were tryin' to swim on the hard kitchen floor ! 

It sure looked like burglars had been in the house, 
And fought with ma's dishes, and sauces, and 
souse; 

Her fine china cup, 

Was all broken up, 
And Tabby was there, too, and she had the mouse ! 

192 



JUST AS YOU SAY 

A Christmas Story Where a Woman Has Her Way 
by Letting a Man Have His. 

** We'll buy no presents, ma," said I, 
"Perhaps we'll make up by and by, 
If crops are good and prices right, 
But we've no money now in sight. " 
'Nd ma said, "Well, just as you say," 
(She always talked to me that way), 
"But then," said she, "I think the boys 
And girls will miss their Christmas toys." 
"What if they do?" said I. "They're got 
Enough to eat and wear, and what 
Can they expect when crops are poor? 
They have no hardships to endure. " 

That settled it. Ma went away 

A sayin', "Well, just as you say.'* 

And I braced up and tried to feel 

As if I hadn't tried to steal 

The joys of little folks away, 

Who comforted me every day. 

I tried to figure that 'twas best 

To stand firm. But I couldn't rest, 

For ev'ry day it seemed I'd hear, 

"Won't Santa Claus be here this year?" 

But ma — confound that woman — she 

Was unconcerned as she could be. 

She never seemed to hear a word, 

Although my very soul was stirred, 

And I was hopin' she would say: 

"Let's change our plans for Christmas day.' 



193 



I'd twist and turn each night in bed, 
And she would ask me if my head 
Was hurtin\ and I'd tell her, "No; 
I think the weather's changed 'nd snow 
Or rain will be here pretty soon; 
It's time for changin' o' the moon." 
With Christmas day just four days off, 
I rose one mornin', gave a cough, 
And said, "Say, ma, we'd better go 
To town today, fer it might snow." 
'Nd ma, she said to me, Why, Joe, 
What difference if it does snow? 
We've groceries and dry goods here, 
A plenty till the Glad New Year." 
I had to knuckle and confess, 
And tell her she must have a dress, 
And that before the Glad New Year, 
We'd better have Old Santa here. 
She smiled, and said to me that day, 
"Dear Joe, old boy, just as you say." 



194 



HOOLIGAN'S ELEPHANT EAR 

Tim Hooligan wanted an "ilephant ear" in his 

yard, 
So he dug a deep hole, and a very wide hole, where 

'twas hard. 
And he stuck in the ground, 
With dirt all around, 
A bulb of an "ilephant ear" that he found. 

Six barrels of wather was all that he used the first 

day; 
To pump and to carry, for Hooligan it was but 

play. 
Twinty buckets at noon, 
Twinty more very soon, 
And siventeen more by the light o' the moon. 

Thin Mrs. O'Grady came over to see how it grew, 
For 'twas a full month before iver it came into 

view. 
She had raised one before, 
'Nd said she "Put on more." 
Fer "ilephant ears" sure take wather galore. 

Thin Timothy rose ivery morning at break o' the 

day, 
And whin the swate sun came a peepin' was 

pumpin' away. 
In the best o' good cheer, 
Fer not yet did he fear, 
That sometime he'd have him an "ilephant ear." 

But fate was agin him, begorra, along in July, 
For the "saxty foot well" he was pumpin' began 

to go "dhry." 
Whin it wouldn't come round, 
So its roots he could dhrowned, 
That "ilephant ear" would he flat on the ground. 

195 



At last whin the pump was a wheezin' its last 

dyin* sthroke, 
A light on the face of poor Timothy Hooligan 

broke 
Sez he, "If I'd here, 
Lake Killarney so clear, 
It would take ivery drop fer this "ilephant ear!" 



196 



NEX' WEEK 

Ever see him? He's a good natured fellow, 
Always about with a temper that's mellow; 
A promisin' cuss— he is noted for that, 
But for swift action he never stands pat, 
Busiest man that you ever did see; 
Brain always figgerin' for you or me. 
Wish something done! Just find him 'n' speak, 
And 'twill be done if you wait till "nex' week." 




OFFERS MEN POINTERS. 

Knows how to lay a brick wall for a house, 
Offers men pointers on winning a spouse; 
Knows when the weather will be wet or dry; 
Knows by the birds when they fly low or high. 
Tells by the winds from the east or the west 
Just when the time for fishin' is best. 
Has a big job 'n' he'll work like a streak 
When he begins " 'Bout the first o' nex' week." 



197 



"Nex' week" arrives, but there's prospect of rain; 
Wouldn't dare risk such a burden 'n' strain. 
Sits aroun' home, 'n' sometimes milks the cow; 
"Not feelin' very dern good, anyhow." 
Thinks it too airly to plant corn jist yet ; 
Planted it ainy once 'n' it got bit. 
Bit by the frost — so no more will he seek 
Any sich losses — "So waits till nex' week." 




SITS AROUN* HOME. 



Cares do not sit on the boughs of his tree; 
Happiest Cuss in the world, seems to me, 
Never has much — just enough for a day; 
"Figgerin'," though, on things comin' his way. 
When the time comes for Old Gabe's horn to toot 
He'll sit as still as if he'd taken root. 
Pullin' his whiskers — then faintly he'll speak, 
"Low I'll be with you, Gabe, first o' nex' week." 



198 



TELL TORY, MAMMA 

Tell 'tory, mamma, I's tired now 
I's dot my 'tockin's off to do to bed; 
Tell me a 'tory of a d-r-a-t-e b-i-d bear 
'N' 'bout Wee Widin-hood wif tap of wed 
'N' tell me 'bout the wo'f 'at wuns awound 
The bid dark woods at night 'n' twies to fin' 
The ittee sheep 'at wouldn't min' it's ma 
'N' so dot almos' lost 'tause 'twas behin'. 
Tell 'tory, bout the giant 'at 'tood 'tep 
So far as I tood walk all day an' night, 
'N' how he wored so woud when he was mad 
'N', how the ittee boys 'tep from his sight. 

Tell 'tory 'bout the Hon in its tage 
'N' elefants wif big snout hangin' down 
'N' 'bout the tandy 'tore where Santa 'ives 
'At papa saw once when he was to town, 
Tell 'tory — " then a long breath and a sigh, 
I wrap him up and lay him in his bed, 
Locked in the arms of sweetest dreams once 

more 
That hold him till the sun is shining red. 



199 



MABEL ELIZABETH 

Little Mabel Elizabeth Neff is a girl 
Just a little bit over a year, with a curl 
And a quick little motion of hands, and two feet 
That are busy from morning till night, and a sweet 
Little face, and a pair of brown eyes and a smile , 
And sometimes a scold or a scream (it's her style) 
Yes, Mabel Elizabeth Neff with a curl 
And a toss of her head is our sort of a girl. 

Outdoors she must be, so they built a big pen 
Of woven wire fence just as tall as a hen, 
Or a girl just as tall as Elizabeth's head; 
(When she was inside) for indeed 'twas a dread 
To have the wee girl with her pitapat feet 
Get out on the walk or run out on the street. 
So they penned her in tight with a sigh of relief, 
But the time that she stayed was indeed very brief. 

When they failed to watch her as they always had 

done 
Little Mabel Elizabeth Neff, just for fun 
Or for mischief perhaps, (for she was so stout,) 
Found a wee little hole and forced her way out ! 
And away down the walk with her pitapat feet 
Went visiting folks, and her papa to greet. 
They caught her and put her right back in the pen, 
Again she broke out then they caught her again 
And got a wee rope and they tied it around 
Miss Mabel Elizabeth's body. Then found 
A very short stake (but 'twas taller than she), 
And they staked her inside just as fast as could be, 
Yes, they have to tie her inside of that pen 
And watch her besides or she'll break out again. 



200 



LITTLE BILLY 

Little Billy's just a little boy I love so well; 
Comes to our house visiting for a little spell; 
Gets the choochoo engine out and runs it on the 

floor, 
That same little engine that our Billy ran before. 
Peeks 'round in the closets and climbs upon the 

stair — 
Busiest little fellow, always peeping everywhere. 
Every little corner of the house he must explore, 
Like our Little Billy did, that was here before. 
Little Billy, bless his heart, has got such wondering 

eyes, 
Always finding new things out (his way of getting 

wise); 
Seems his little head is full of " whats," and " hows " 

and "whys," 
For he's learning every day with hands and ears 

and eyes. 
Climbs upon the chair a bit, then slides off to 

the floor, 
Thumps the big piano and wonders why the roar; 
Points his finger at the fire and shakes his little 

head, 
Telling me that fire will burn and he has learned 

to dread. 
Way out in the kitchen then a hunting for a 

"dink," 
Climbing down the cellar steps, then in another 

wink, 
Gets right in the coal bin and sits down in the dust, 
"Cause it's there" and he is, too, and of course he 

must. 
All the day from morn till night pattering away, 
Busiest little fellow, no one place will he stay. 



201 



And when they must wrap him up and take him 

home again, 
It seems just awful lonely in the parlor and the 

den; 
And when we go up to bed and get to quiet dreams, 
Oftentimes we're carried back so many years, it 

seems; 
And in the night a gentle touch of baby fingers 

steals 
Upon my cheek just to assure that Little Billy feels 
Secure and safe I am there, and then again a call 
Comes from a little bed and sounds so natural in 

the hall. 
Or we are playing in the yard with wagons as of 

yore, 
Or rolling marbles once again upon the kitchen 

floor, 
Or looking at the pictures as he points them out to 

me, 
For everything is wonderful that little Billies see. 
Ah, me! Dear Little Billies, what a treasure to a 

home — 
A treasure from the cradle to the time that they 

must roam. 
O, happy is the home, indeed, where Little Billies 

stay. 
How lonely, too, at times, when Little Billies are 

away! 



202 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Oct. 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD I EAOER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 
1 1 1 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township. PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 




1 ""liriTriiT °- - ™ GRE , SS 

015 799 678 2 W 




